Body Snatcher
by Ellersway
Summary: Sixteen years ago Edward Elric sacrificed himself for his brother. Sixteen years ago Harry Potter became the Boy-Who-Lived. This year the connection becomes clear. REWRITE. NEW ACCOUNT. Eventual Roy/Ed.
1. Prologue

Body Snatcher

_Eine Kleine Katze_ (now _Ellersway_)

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist.

This story is AU after Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix, and episode 51 of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Pairings are in the air- I'm always open to suggestions- though I will definitely be writing separate RoyEd, RonWinry and one sided WinryEd oneshots **much later on** which will accompany this fic, to be read along side it. **These will be posted separately** under my account, **so that people who don't like pairings will be able to ignore them and read the story without them**. Kay?

(Prologue re-written on May 1st 2009)

* * *

_Prologue_

**The-Boy-Who-Died**

In every man and woman, there is a small part of their soul that remembers the _old fear_; a carnal, ancient terror left over from the days when man was young and superstition could still coexist with science. It is this part of us which remembers that every action has a consequence; with every life there must be death; and nothing, _nothing_ comes without a price. Everything must be balanced; equal. _Equivalent_. This is the fear of the Gate, and the price we must all eventually pay for passing through it.

As man grew, it allowed itself to forget- except for one night of the year. On this night- this _hallowed_ night, the world remembers a time when the veil was thin and the gate was barely formed, a time when Alchemy and magic were still inextricably intertwined and the boundaries between here and… _there_, were yet to be fixed. On this night, the gate opens once again.

It began much like any other evening- perhaps the wind was crisper, the cold a bit more biting, but there was little else about the scene that would warn the inhabitants of Godric's Hollow of their fast-approaching fate. As nights went, it was neither dark nor particularly stormy; the autumn clouds had given away to the crisp, clear skies of winter, and the stars were laid bare above the unsuspecting hamlet.

Perhaps- pathetic fallacy be damned- it should have gone without saying that bad things were going to happen that night, after all, it was Halloween and what time is more perfect for murder and misdeeds than the 31st of October?

It was, in fact, a coincidence that Tom Riddle decided to kill the Potters on this particular night- a trivial decision, one based on his vanity and appreciation for dramatic effect rather than any cosmic or 'prophetic' destiny. Had he chosen another night on which to murder the unsuspecting family things might have turned out differently.

Who knows?

But as it happened, he chose Halloween as the night on which to exact his revenge; and the consequences of his choice quickly began to unfold.

Starting with the death of Harry Potter.

Nobody noticed when the attack first started; seconds past and coloured lights flickered through the windows of the small thatched cottage, but there was no noise- no sounds that would suggest a struggle or fight. This silent illusion was shattered- however- with the destruction of the rear right wall, whatever silencing spells that had been placed upon the building were rendered useless when the one side of the house was missing.

"_James_!" A woman was screaming hysterically and a sheer green light shook the sky. This was followed by a frantic trampling sound as the woman threw herself up the stairs of her home, the floor shrieking in protest as its weighty timbers splintered under her feet. Then another light- an explosion within the house causing a fresh glut of water to gush from the second floor; the cottage's ancient plumbing groaning under the stress of its punctured, broken pipes.

"_James_? James! _James_- oh James- _oh_ no, oh _no_ nono_no_."

The words echoed down the empty country lane.

"Oh Harry- oh _my baby_. Oh _James_. _Oh no-o-o_…"

* * *

Five hundred yards away- at the vicarage of Godric's Church- Delyth Canning-Jones sat out on the decking of her back garden, chewing on the papery end of a cigarette. She was alone- having sent the kids up to bed earlier; and her husband lurked in the back of the house somewhere. He avoided the rest of the family on Halloween; the kids enjoyed it too much- Delyth was far too lenient with them, and he- as a man of the church did not appreciate his children being exposed to such... heathenism. David was not an unreasonable man, Delyth thought, he just liked his things the way he liked them.

Sighing she lit a new cigarette and shivered slightly. Holding the stick in her mouth she shrugged her mangy duffel coat closer around her shoulders, silently cursing the habit which had drawn her out here in the middle of the god-forsaken night wearing only a nightie and husband's Wellingtons.

Delyth took another deep drag and closed her eyes. She loved the sounds of the night-time, straining she waited for the coo of their resident barn owl- but the sky was eerily silent. Frowning, she exhaled deeply and listened closer. Nothing. Tutting, she took another-

"Y'C_aaa_nt- ahh! Ha-r_eee_-"

The woman spluttered, sending a wave of phlegm and smoke up her nostrils.

"N-n-oo! NO! Hel--"

The words were faint and swallowed, but they were there, and Delyth recognised the speaker instantly. In a village as small as Godric's Hollow, one got to know pretty much everyone around, and Delyth would have found it particularly hard to forget the beautiful auburn-haired woman who occupied the next house up. She and her equally attractive husband had wanted to get their little baby (Harvey? Henry?) Christened at David's church- well, the red-head had seemed more keen on it than the fella mind you- not that it mattered though 'cause David would have none of it; he called them- good heavens- called them paga-

"No- NO!"

Delyth spat out her cigarette. _Lily_. That was the woman's name. _Lily Potter_. Gracious- was that her shouting back there? No- not shouting- _screaming_. She'd have be screaming to be heard from that place-

"HELP US!"

Jerking her frozen limbs from their foetal position she lifted herself up from the doorstep and crashed through the kitchen door.

"_Dav'_! David! Come quick! Dav'! Gracious where _is_ that man- _David_!"

She stormed through the large, empty house towards her husbands study, trailing mud behind her. Delyth reached his door to find the man emerging dishevelled, his fine wispy hair flying in a halo which emphasised the expanse of his receding hairline. He was wrapped in a navy flannel dressing gown and wore an expression of confused annoyance.

"What Lizzy?" His words were clipped and Delyth floundered.

"It's uh- neighbours- I, uh- heard-" she started and frowned, "there was screaming. I think you should check-"

"In the middle of the night?" David interrupted.

"Yes." She bit. "I think somebody's in trouble-"

"Right. Okay- now which neighbours are we talking about anyway?"

Delyth grimaced. "The Potters."

Her husband turned slightly purple in hue. "O-_ho_! No surprises there then. I told you! Witches the lot of them- probably off doing some satanic ritual as we speak. Why I wouldn't be surprised if-"

"David!" she scolded; her husband was not the most rational man on the planet. "Would you please stop it- good gracious- how would you feel if come tomorrow something had actually happened to those poor people. And y-"

"I'd sleep easier that's for sure-" David started, but his wife cut him off with a fierce glare.

"- And _you_ had just sat back on your larry and done nothing, how would you feel? Hmm?"

Her husband sniffed lightly.

"And, well, say they were doing some sort of voo-doo witchy… ritual thing," she added quietly, wrinkling her nose, "well then, isn't that all the more reason to go and check? I mean- think of their son Dav'… that poor little boy."

The lanky man visibly deflated. "Fine. Right- fine. Where are my keys?"

Delyth's smile brightened and she tried not to look smug, carefully she fished through the umbrella stand before throwing them to her husband in a silver blur.

"_Thank you_, popkin." She whispered as she ushered him out the door- (still clad only in his flannel gown and slippers) and into the land rover. Slamming the door behind him she rooted through her pockets for another cigarette. What a night. She was glad that she couldn't hear the cries of Lily Potter from this side of the house, they were frightening. Carefully she flicked open her-

BOOM.

The earth shook beneath her feet and she feel backwards against the wall. "Heavens! What in the-"

BOOM.

A giant spire of green light ploughed into the sky, lighting it up like the sky at New Years. In the distance, she could hear several car alarms going off, and there was a distinct orange glow to the sky line. _Fire_. Was the Potter house on fire? Delyth blanched. The nearest station was miles away past a swollen knotted mess of country lanes- they wouldn't get here in time would they? Wasting none, she ran back indoors, her discarded cigarette glowing against the ground, and picked up the land line.

999.

_Beeeeeeeeeep_.

Dead.

"Bugger it." Delyth bit her tongue and ran back outside as another explosion rocked the sky, a giant fork of electric blue lightning reaching down from the heavens- Delyth was sure it must have hit the Potter house.

Fire, _green_ explosions and _lightning_? Maybe the Potters were up to something unsavoury.

Worried now for David's safety (and for the poor family, whom the fire brigade would no doubt not reach in time) she hitched her floor-length nightie up around her knees and set off on a run. This quickly slowed to a lop-sided jog as her traitorous lungs burned in protest, but she pushed on- catching two of the other local 'on lookers' as she went.

"David!" she cried as the house came into view, the silhouette of the land rover standing out clearly in front of the burning pile of rubble that was once the proud Potter home. Her husband was leaned back against the door of the car, his face and clothes were blackened and he held something bundled up in the excess of his coat. Stumbling she reached out to him. "David!"

Slowly he turned to her, eyes wide and fearful. "Devil-spawn." He said.

Delyth blinked.

"Knew it, all along, knew it. Look what they've done to him. Devil spawn." Her husband shoved something into her arms with a hoarse whisper.

It took her seconds to realise that it was a baby. "Harry…" she murmered, adjusting her weight, the baby was silent.

"Look at its eyes." The man urged, his eyes darting around her face to gage her reaction.

Carefully, Delyth unwrapped the baby slightly to look at his face- expecting him to be asleep. But no, it was simply silent, gazing sharply up at her with two perfect amber eyes. Beautiful. Beautiful- but curious, hadn't he had Lily's eyes? _Emerald _eyes? These eyes were chips of gold. Delyth frowned.

"Devil child!" The man bit out, and the woman turned her gaze to him.

"Where are his parents?"

"Burning."

"You- you mean they're still-" Delyth choked and looked towards the smouldering remains of the house.

"No. Dead. They're dead."

"Jesus Christ…" The woman shook her head and turned her gaze back to Harry. "Oh!" She gasped, "You're hurt! Oh poor _baby_…"

Softly she stroked the child's face, tracing the outline of a long and bloody scar which ran from his left eye down the middle of his cheek. Pushing his wispy fringe aside she saw it continue- _jagged_ like a bolt of lightning- over his tiny forehead before disappearing into his hair. The baby opened its eyes. _Green_. Not gold. Had she imagined it before? But then her husband must have too… or maybe it had simply been a trick of the light. She shook her head and withdrew her withered hand- it was sticky with blood. Frowning, Delyth knew she would have to wait for the police to arrive before she could tend to the baby or take it home to change its clothes- if David let it anywhere near the house, that was. But the mounting crowd suggested that the authorities would soon be on their way anyway; sighing, she turned her attention to the remains of the cottage.

There had definitely been an explosion of some kind, two sides of the house were just simply missing and everything else seemed to have caved in around them. The roof was gone completely and all the windows had been blown outwards. The place was in ruins.

"What happened here, huh baby?" She said breathlessly, eyes fixed on the flickering building.

In the corner of her eye she noticed a young black-haired man push his way through the crowd viciously. He was obviously looking for someone and she hadn't seen him in the village before… Was he a friend of the Potters? Her heart ached. He was close enough now for her to see the dark shadow of stubble on his cheek. Furiously he snatched the baby from her arms. Delyth started to protest by the man was already completely involved in the infant, cooing at it in a rough, tear stained voice.

"It's okay now Prongslet. Everything's gunna be- okay now- okay- look see its Paddy, its Padfoot." He held the baby with awkward, shaking arms, and Delyth reached out to help him. The man flinched.

"What are you doing?"

Delyth reeled backwards, "-Gracious! I- uh, you looked like you needed some help there-"

"We don't need anything." The man snarled, nostrils flaring against gaunt grey cheeks.

"Okay..." she squeaked, and the man started to walk off with the baby still in his arms. Delyth marched forward, following him, "Now wait there! You cant just run off with-" But she was cut off by a large shape which obscured her vision; looking upwards she saw that it was a man. His bulk was colossal, and he had both large palms out in front of him in a hopeless gesture. Gruffly he exchanged words with the dark-haired man- or that's what it looked like anyway; their mouths were moving rapidly and a look of strain was on the younger man's face, however- Delyth couldn't hear a word that was being said; it was like watching a television that was turned on mute. Frowning she gazed up at the giant's ruddy face, it was red and slick with tears- so, another friend of Lily's then? She scrunched up her nose- word sure travelled fast…

She paused; sirens screaming in the distance.

The men continued to ignore her presence and the larger man put a gentle hand on his companion's shoulder, a look of resignation crossing his face. "I'm sorry." His lips read, Delyth recognised the shape of these words. "I'm so sorry."

The handsome, dark-haired man grimaced and lowered his head to the now sleeping baby, whispering into its neck before handing it awkwardly- _carefully_ into the large arms of his friend. Silently they murmured their goodbyes and the younger man gestured to a hefty and threatening-looking motorbike that lay abandoned on the roadside just beyond the house. The giant gave him one last pat on the shoulder before trudging off towards the vehicle, and he stood staring at the man's retreating form. Quietly he shot a last lingering look at the ruins of the Potter house and sighed before slipping silently into the surrounding shadows.

When Delyth was later questioned about the events of that night, she did not recall the vibrant burst of blue lightning which had followed the sickly green glow, nor did she mention the colour of the infants bright, accusing eyes. In fact, she found it hard to remember anything about the night at all; after she had given her statement to the strange looking policemen in blue her mind had seemed to purge itself of the event entirely. The doctor said it might have been stress and her eldest daughter joked that her age must have been catching up with her- and for all she knew it might have been… Except that- _in her dreams_ she remembered; every night for many, many years she would see those sad amber eyes, and wonder… _whatever happened to Harry Potter_?

For the folks of Godric's Hollow that night remained a particularly nasty though somewhat distant tragedy; a scar on the otherwise quaint visage of the tight-knit village community- one which they were all too happy to forget. If someone brought it up then the reply would always be: 'Awful, simply awful' and the subject swiftly changed.

For the citizens of the wizarding world however it became a night of celebration; immortalised as proof of the power of good over evil. The more unsavoury details were glazed over, but everyone knew the basics: You-Know-Who had visited the Potters intent on killing the family in a vicious act of violence. Both of the parents died, but Harry Potter lived- and in living (though no one truly knew how) he had somehow managed to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Or something like that.

This widely-believed theory was not so far from the truth, though it was missing a few vital details. But only two people were truly aware of what _actually_ happened that night- and one of these stalked the forests of Romania, stuck in a ghostly half life; while the other was merely a baby. Dumbledore had his suspicions but… no one knew for sure.

That night, James had been the first to fall; he was killed outright at the first curse thrown. Lily followed him, giving her life in a vain attempt to save her baby from his fate. Tom had given her a choice- a rare and unexpected gift, but the mother turned it down. "My baby- please, _don't hurt my baby_." She had begged, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. "_My _life- take _mine_-"

And he did; her words died on her lips as she fell gracefully to the floor, smothered by a flash of green light. Smiling lightly the reptilian man turned his attention to Harry Potter; pushing past the woman's lifeless form and down to the cradle behind her- where he fired the killing curse.

Legend tells us that what happened next left Voldemort dead, and Harry Potter the sole survivor of Avada Kedavra.

These are lies.

Harry Potter died instantly that night; his soul swept back to the Gate in a tidal wave of green light. The Gate reached out to the body of the child with a bolt of searing, burning blue- almost instantaneously its dead emerald eyes opened wide and it wailed as the green light bounced back upon to its caster. The wizard shrieked as his body slowly decomposed around him, flailing as he fought to stay in life. Within seconds all that was left of the man was a dark thin mist that rose gradually from the ground and an empty, battered cloak.

Then there was silence; the blue-green light gradually fading until only the small child remained, squirming in his cradle as the house around him burned.

That night, all around the world, men and women celebrated together as they heard of the darklord's defeat; raising their glasses they toasted in hushed voices: "_To Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived._"

But _Harry Potter_ died that night… and as a million light-years away, a stone gate shut tightly, so did the fate of that poor little baby. Not Harry Potter- oh no. But the _real_ survivor; a boy who had just started to play out the Prophesy… a boy named _Edward Elric_.

* * *

**AN for takedown and re-upload is on the next page**


	2. I

Body Snatcher

_Eine Kleine Katze _(now _Ellersway_)

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist.

This story is AU after Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix, and episode 51 of Fullmetal Alchemist.

(Chapter 1 re-written from May 2nd  7th 2009)

_

* * *

_

_I_

**Of Dreams and Of Nightmares**

_I've been having these strange… dreams, lately. And in them: I am dying. That's how I know that they are dreams; I'm still alive when I wake up._

_Tonight the dream starts in the ballroom; I am lying on my back in a wide open hall with a vaulted ceiling that reminds me of Hogwarts. The room has a golden glow about it where the candlelight bounces off the gilded chandelier above me; its beauty leaves me breathless- so, I take one._

_Pain. Agony._

_I realise now that it is not the beauty of the room that has stolen my breath away, but the aching, gaping hole in my chest- there are organs exposed and blood- so much blood. I cannot see it, but I can feel it. It hurts-_

_- but that's okay; I won't remember the pain in the morning- not until tomorrow night at least. That's how these dreams work._

_My eyes are still open, but the world is slipping away from me; shapes are blurring to become a golden haze. "I'm so sorry!" I choke, "Al!"_

_I would stop to wonder who Al is, but there is no time- already I feel my lungs tighten- the blood rising in my throat; I open my mouth to speak but the words die on my lips, distorted by a rush of deep crimson liquid._

_I am drowning in my own blood._

_This has happened before. The same thing happens every night; my world is turning black and a woman's voice is ringing in my ears. She is calling a name- my name; she has screamed the same words to me every night for the past three months and yet they still evade me. It is the worst sort of déjà vu._

_My stomach lurches and a fresh wave of red spills out from between my gritted teeth; there is a noise like laughter, too wretched to be human. I hear screaming but I can't- I can't concentrate on it. Is it me? Or is it someone else? The world is slipping away from me and I just- I can't think. Help me, somebody. Al? Somebody. Somebody please, help me._

_This is how I die. Drowning. Laughing. Screaming. And the final thing I hear as the floor drops out below me is that still small voice-_

_"Brother?"_

_"Brother…?"_

_"BROTHER!!"_

_And then, I am gone._

* * *

Harry Potter jerked bolt upright in his bed, his breathing was shallow and his eyes were wide and rabid. A few seconds passed and he led back down, lazily he put a palm to his forehead; it was slick with sweat and had yet to start to cool. Through the thin gauze of his curtains he could see the barest threads of morning beginning to touch the sky. It was early, then. He sighed- another good night of sleep ruined.

It was the fourth week of the summer holidays and these dreams had been bothering him for a while now- though it wasn't as if he hadn't experienced disturbing dreams _before_; ever since he was a child he'd been the victim of vicious nightmares. When he was younger he had dreamt of the death of his parents; his mind conjuring up a car crash more gruesome than any of Dudder's video games. And as he grew older the scene changed, it became more vivid- with words now too; this time he could hear his mother screaming.

_Don't take Harry_.

It didn't make any sense to him then, but he'd never had any time to think because at that moment- just before impact- Lily would turn around in the passenger seat to face him, and she would just stare. The car had yet to crash but her eyes were already grey and dead and her skin was blackened and rotting; she would take a rasping breath and Harry's eyes would be drawn to her mangled chest as it heaved- ribs and organs protruding, _squirming_. Harry would always try to reach out to her, but his arms were young and stubby- his words coming out in a futile gurgle. The last thing he would see before his vision exploded was the grinning green headlamps of the oncoming car, getting closer- closer until they swallowed his world whole.

The night he was moved into the cupboard under the stairs, a new kind of nightmare began. In these dreams he was always trapped; locked in the dark and musky crawlspace- where he had been completely forgotten by the rest of the world. The Dursleys had left him- the house was abandoned and he would sit there rocking himself back and forth as a thin harlequin light filtered through the cupboard grate. Eventually the light disappeared, but as Harry peered through the metal grill he realised that it wasn't because the lights had been turned off, it was because someone was standing in front of the cupboard door. Suddenly he would find himself screaming at the person. Please. _Please_. Help. Don't leave me. Don't leave us. Help me. Help me. We need you. _Dad_…

That was the first time he dreamt of his father; faceless, unlike his mother whose-

_rotting_

-image was burned into his retinas. At the end of the dream, every time, the figure would leave and light would flood the cupboard once again. Harry found himself scratching at the doors, then; frantically crying out to the man in a raw and rabid voice: Come back! Let me out. Come back. Come back. _Come back_.

But he never did.

At the age of six, his uncle struck him for the first time- not a shove, or one of those poxy little slaps he'd got as punishment in previous years, but a lingering, forceful, back-handed blow across his face- the kind of punch which would leave a man's knuckles bruised- had Harry been a harder target to hit. After this the dreams changed again; now his cupboard had become his haven, a place where he was safe from the beefy, unforgiving hands of his uncle. _Open the door, freak_. A voice would rumble, making the cupboard around him shake. _Open the door_.

Suddenly there would be a thump as the man slumped down onto his knees to peer through the plastic grill. _Boy_. He would ground out in a slow slur. _Open the door_. Each word was punctuated by a ragged, leery breath and Harry could smell stale liquor permeate the air through the slim slits of the grate. The child would wrinkle his nose. His dreams were always so vivid, not a sense remained unstirred and the only way he could tell that this was a dream at all was by the way it ended; two eyes glowering at him balefully through the vent, round and glowing and _green_-

Of course; green.

When he was eleven and finally learned the truth behind the phantom green light which had haunted his childhood, his dreams changed almost entirely. His parents had names now; Lily and James- but so did the monster who had snatched them away from him. Voldemort. A name which had him wishing that his family really had died in a car crash. A name which had him wishing (and not for the first time) that he had died too. Now his dreams were full of lights, not just green, but blue and red and white and yellow. An entire rainbow of pain; each colour with its own flavour, its own twist that sharpened the _dull_, monotonous torture he'd imagined in all his years before.

In the summer of his first year he dreamt about the Philosophers Stone. In his mind he would replay each test he and his friends had had to face in order to reach the stone; except this time there was screaming- not loud at first, but it was there. It gave Harry a renewed sense of urgency. Quick! He would say to Hermione, rubbing his scar with his thumb. I think there's someone in there with him. We need to hurry- he's _hurting_ them. And so they would push on, defeating each challenge with an ease which was disconcerting for a group of eleven year olds and each time the next door opened the screaming would get just a little bit louder.

_Can't you hear it?_ Harry's little mouth would twist itself into a frown, and his friends would shake their heads.

_You're going barmy, mate_. Ron would say, eyes flickering to Hermione.

Another door would open, the screaming would increase. Another door. Another door. Harry had to fight now to hear his friends over the din.

And then when he was in that final chamber- facing the mirror of erised- there was only silence. Harry watched as his likeness held up the crimson stone in one hand before passing it into the other, right to left, to right to left, back and forth, back and forth before slipping it into his pocket. Slowly his doppelganger lifted a finger to his lips. _Quiet_.

Harry blanched- not because of the robed man the reflection revealed advancing behind him- but because of the blood that dripped from the raised finger of his likeness. Harry's eyed traced the thick crimson trail as it tapered off down his wrist- his reflection didn't seem aware of it however and gasped- raising his other bloody hand and mouthing-

_Look out_.

There was a frantic hissing sound and "There- look you fool! He has the stone- it's in his _pocket_."

True to these words Harry felt a weight pulling at his trouser leg, and suddenly there was something thick, wet and seeping warmly oozing down the length of his thigh. His hand flew to his pocket and he recoiled almost instantly- covered in a warm and viscous red that seemed to grow in the hollow between his fingers. As his hand touched the stone the screaming had started again. But now he realised it wasn't one voice- but hundreds, _thousands_. There were words too- but they were shouted desperately in a harsh and indecipherable language that made his head ache until it all became just one mass of noise.

Harry let out a frantic, frenzied yelp and scrubbed his blood-stained hands on his robe- but the red wouldn't come off. Instead it started to spread; crawling up his arms and over his shoulder blades. He could feel the voices, they were under his skin now and the air was thick with the pungent, metallic smell of blood. He could feel it at his neck. At his jaw. Then his chin. Finally he felt the hot liquid spill over his lips- choking out a cry as it claimed his lungs.

_All is one_. It would whisper. _All is one._

That summer, Harry set his alarm clock every hour so he wouldn't go to sleep.

By the time the next summer eventually rolled around, his nightmares were worse than ever. The basilisk had scared him shitless; though he wouldn't admit it out loud. Harry liked snakes, heck- he'd go as far as to say that he loved them- listening to the adders chatter away at each other in the long summer grass. It was pleasant- and there was very little in Harry's life that he could truly call pleasant. But when he saw the basilisk… he felt his insides curl and his blood go cold. For a normal person, this might have been a rational reaction; but Harry was not a normal person- and he couldn't explain it. The serpent was the subject of his nightmares for almost a year before they changed again.

At the end of his third year, he had expected that he would get nightmares about werewolves. It seemed natural after all, I mean- one had tried to eat him only a few weeks previous, and he knew that both of his best friends got the occasional night-terror about it… but, _he_ didn't. That's not to say his nightmares had stopped though. They hadn't. Harry _did_ get nightmares about that night, but they weren't about werewolves. No.

His nightmares were about Sirius.

Every night when he closed his eyes his mind would replay his godfather's transformation from man into dog. Man into dog. Man into dog. Man into dog. But never, _never_, dog into man. In his head Harry drew it out, the process slowed, distorted and amplified. His subconscious had recorded every crunch and snap of bone, every tear and flaccid groan of flesh as man morphed into canine. At the end of the dream the dog would cock its head to one side, heart pouring from it's dark eyes as it bared its teeth and said-

"Wanna play?"

When Ron and Hermione discussed becoming animagi, Harry said no.

In the trio's fourth year Harry saw a dead man. A body in a forest. Soulless. Empty. This bothered him. You see, for all the talk of dark wizards and curses and murder, death had never before seemed so _real_ to Harry. And it wasn't as if he even knew the man- atleast, he didn't know him _well_… But his eyes were open when Harry found him. Soulless. Empty. And this bothered him. Of course, then, only a few days later- Cedric died. His eyes were empty too, with the same soulless glassy sheen- unblinking, accusing, and etched on Harry's mind for eternity.

After that, the nightmares were almost unbearable. Mostly because Harry knew it was his fault. Partially because he had now had the chance to sample the delights of the cruciatus. His mind would let him forget neither of these; and for three hundred and fifty six days, Harry dreamt in shades of green. His usual nightmares were now peppered with visions of Tom's torturous escapades; in some ways this was a relief.

_Variety is, after all, the spice of life_. He would sneer into his pillow.

Perhaps this was the reason he hadn't tried so hard at occlumency, perhaps he had been reluctant to part with his newfound relief from the hold of his usual nightmares. Harry shook with the force of these treacherous thoughts. He didn't need another reason to blame himself for the death of his godfather, there were enough already…

…And the _guilt_…the guilt was unquenchable; it dragged him downwards, pulling away at him until he felt great chunks of his soul stretch and snap under its dead, _heaving_ weight. He dreamt of that night even when he was awake… Every time he closed his eyes he saw it: Sirius, falling in a graceful arc through an ornate stone archway; looking like a skater or a dancer or a diver- moving with a grace that was just so unnatural, so un-_Padfoot _that it was hard to believe it was really him at all. His eyes were-

_Empty. Soulless._

-comically wide and his mouth was set in an eternal, cursive 'O'. There was a sudden rushed hushing noise like a sigh and his torso disappeared completely through veil; the gauzy wisps of evasive, smoke-like fabric curling around his legs like some kind of sea urchin, reluctant to release its hold.

Seconds- less than seconds, really- that's how long it took for Sirius to leave Harry's life forever.

_Sirius_. His throat trembled. He had only had one _real nightmare_ about Sirius and that was on the day of the man's death. In it, Harry replayed the scene leading up to his godfathers fall- except, this time he was _closer_- this time Remus couldn't hold him and Harry would run, reaching up to the man with outstretched arms. He would be so close. _So close_. But as soon as his first foot fell on the stone steps of the dais Sirius would shriek; suddenly he would start to disappear, his body beginning to decompose- the smoky tendrils of the veil devouring him alive. Harry would force himself forward and Sirius would reach out to him-

But Harry was too late, as always, and snatched only at air as the last of the man crumbled into nothing. That was how his dream ended, and he awoke retching with a déjà vu that he couldn't identify and wasn't sure he wanted to.

It was after this that the new dreams began. These dreams were strange and didn't seem to be based off _his _life at all. Initially he had assumed that they were visions from Tom, but there was no magic and no death eaters- there was torture, of course, but there was no cruciatus- likewise there was death, but for once it remained unaccompanied by a sickly green light. For a while, he thought the dreams might have been symbolic and cursed himself silently for having burnt his divination textbooks with Ron at the end of their exams. But after almost three months of trying to figure out a deeper meaning Harry decided that these dreams were far too fucking real to be some sort of subconscious cry for help.

Weeks later and the dreams still hadn't stopped; every night they would be different. Different faces. Different places. But they would always, _always_ end in the ballroom- with the horrible crunch and sick surprise of being gutted by a beautiful fiend. Harry shuddered. There were certain dreams which were repeated more than others; squeezing his eyes shut he tried not to remember the alleyway, the prison, the laboratory… _the basement_.

These dreams were always from the same perspective. Harry knew this because of his hands; both were always gloved and he would periodically hold them out and clench his fists. His left hand would tingle as the blood rushed out of his fingertips, but his in his right one he felt nothing. In fact the only thing he felt to tell him he even had a right arm at all was a long and aching weight that pulled at his shoulders; skin white and taut over the metal port etched into his chest.

He thought that maybe Voldemort was giving him these dreams as some sort of sick joke; but Harry discarded this idea as soon as he first dreamt about the metal arm- it was too modern- too _muggle_ to be something that Tom had thought up. The boy winced. The night he had dreamt of the surgery on his shoulder… that hard been hard. It had felt as if someone was trying to _weld_ wires to his skin, and he could still feel his nerves burning when he woke up; shaking, Harry would hold his breath and grab at his full fleshy limb- knuckles turning white. Don't worry. He would think. It's still there. It's still there.

In reality these dreams were just as bad- if not worse than those the 'Dark Lord' had become so prone to sending. They were violent and left Harry feeling like a drained and empty husk. The nightmares truly took it out of him, it seemed. He invested so much emotion in his night time adventures that he found it almost impossible to feel through out the day; after waking up from a night of 'sleep' he would find himself even more exhausted than when his head first hit the pillow. Harry felt that this was largely to do with the bizarre emotional attachment he seemed to have to certain faces in these dreams-

_A young boy with round eyes, a blonde with oil-slicked skin, a suit of armour and a beautiful dark-haired man in uniform_-

-it was almost as if he knew these people… Harry shook his head, and then there was _that gate_…

Even so, he didn't really see much point in writing to his friends- let alone the order about these dreams. If it didn't concern Voldemort, it wasn't really any of their business. Not that they would care much anyway, nightmares were a hard thing to empathise with if you hadn't had them all your life like Harry. Ron and Hermione- well, they'd try to understand, but they wouldn't- and Harry really didn't need any of their strained, confused sympathy. He didn't need another reason for them to pity him.

He sighed; there was one person he knew he could've talked to about this. A person who- having spent twelve years in Azkaban- understood the true weight of nightmares; how the twisted creations of your own mind could haunt you more than anything dreamt up by a psychopathic 'dark lord'. Unfortunately for Harry though: Sirius was dead.

Harry drowned a muffled whine in his covers and pulled his pillow over his head.

His godfather had been a brief beacon of light and hope to him over the past two years; like a shooting star he had burned away the darkness with his bright and loving brilliance, but just like a comet his presence was brief, and he quickly- _too quickly_ disappeared completely; and Harry was left alone once again.

And now, here Harry was; his friends having damned him to a summer with only his own treacherous thoughts for company, and the Order as his own private gaolers. Life at number four had quickly become his own personal hell.

The boy seethed. His prison wasn't even gilded.

Sluggishly, he allowed himself a quick glance at the small plastic clock on his windowsill; he could only just make out the thin black hands in the dark. He blinked; the time was only twenty-past-four. Harry sighed, eyes lingering on the swirling cloud of dust that gathered at his window, each speck picked out by the orange glow of the street lamps outside. Silently he pulled himself out of bed.

Unlocking his door he exited his room, moving slowly across the landing towards the bathroom. Stumbling into the bathroom he flicked on the light on, and pulled the door closed behind him.

The false light stung his sleep-obscured eyes and his vision was slightly unfocused, he peered into the glass of the bathroom mirror. As his sight cleared he took a large intake of breath.

Harry didn't need his glasses anymore to study his reflection in the mirror; he hadn't needed them since just before his sixteenth birthday. In fact he had experienced several changes since the 31st of July. Subtle, really- but noticeable to those who knew him. Most of the changes were hard to pinpoint; perhaps his eyes were a little rounder, his curve of his face a little softer-as if his body was suddenly trying to compensate for his half-starved gaunt-faced childhood. Every day Harry found himself struggling that much longer to find some trace of James in his jaw line- of Lily in his cheekbones. They were still there though; it was just that he had gotten so used to finding his father in the mirror every morning that it scared him now that he looked more like _Harry_ than _James_. The few Order members that he had spoken to had passed it off as his magical (and physical) coming-of-age. Harry was sceptical- as well as slightly surprised that Moody hadn't tried to pin him as some sort of impostor.

The biggest change was in Harry's height; or maybe it would be more fitting to say that the _least _change was in Harry's height. He had always been short as a child, but had always chalked it up to the neglect he had experienced when he was young. This was okay when he was a kid- but by the time he'd reached his fourth and fifth year, his 'height-problem', had become- well, exactly that: a _problem_.

Okay. To put it more simply… he was short. Very short.

…_Embarrassingly_ short.

It had never really mattered to him before, but as the years crawled by and his friends and classmates all shot up around him, he was left waiting- stuck in a perpetual childhood. Adolescence- well, _puberty_- had abandoned him at the height of five foot three and honestly, _people were going to notice_.

Staring furiously at his reflection he swore that the summer must have shaved a good two inches off his height. Not that that was possible but-

"Malfoy is going to have a field day come September…" he moaned, collapsing his face in his palms.

Carelessly he reached a groping hand into the sink, pushing the small metal plug into the hole at the bottom. He fumbled hastily for the tap, if he was going to get a wash he would have to do it when the Dursleys weren't awake.

And why shouldn't he get up now? Twenty-five past four was as good a time as any. Time had lost its meaning to Harry now anyway. Four weeks of monotonous purgatory did that to a guy.

Slowly he cupped his hands together, soaking his half-awake face in the cool, wet water. It was in these few seconds of complete submersion that Harry could forget.

Forget mum. Forget dad. Forget… Cedric and _Sirius_ and the screaming blood that pooled between his aching fingers and the scarlet-stained wall and the little girl called "Nina". Forget the beautiful woman led dying on the floor and the mass of pulsating flesh and organs that writhed in the corner and felt more like his mother than his mother ever had and Harry _knew_ it was wrongohhe_knew_itwaswrongbuthecouldn'thelpithejustcouldn'tescapethefeelingthat-

_All is one_.

Harry pulled his face out of the water. There he was again. Thinking.

Gripping the rim of the porcelain sink, he let out a long, shuddering hiss of pain, his clenched fists glowing ivory.

Sometimes. Just sometimes. He really thought he was going insane.

"_Harry, hearing voices that no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the Wizarding World."_ The words of his best friend echoed in his head.

"Shut _up_, Ron."

"_You do know that talking to yourself is generally considered to be one of the first major signs of insanity, right?"_ Hermione added.

"Think I've heard _that_ before too." He said in a breathy sigh- pulling the plug free with one lazy finger. Was he really so buggered up in the head that he was talking to himself now too?

The crueller part of his mind pointed out that he wouldn't have to put up with the voices if he'd have been arsed to learn occlumency and Harry's breath hitched. There was not a day he didn't curse himself for his blind stupidity and pig-headed, arrogant laziness. His thoughtlessness had cost him dearly. He hated- fucking _hated_ hindsight. A million what ifs flooded unbidden into his mind and he felt himself spiral even further downwards; he tried to remind himself that he had no right to feel sorry for himself, because at the end of the day it was his bloody fault. He had nothing to complain about; _he_ wasn't dead. _He_ wasn't gone. He wasn't-

_Empty. Soulless. Rotting_-

The more forgiving part of his mind told him that it wasn't his fault, that it was Bellatrix, Voldemort… even Snape who was to blame… but that voice was malnourished, small and weak.

His head spun. It was a familiar, vicious cycle of thought that he was on- but Harry had always managed to pull himself out of… Eventually. Alone.

It had been quite an unpleasant shock to realise that no one was going to help him through this. He had expected at least to receive an awkward letter off Ron or Hermione telling him not to blame himself and to get his homework done or even inviting him to stay at the Burrow-

But no. Nothing.

Harry shifted slightly. Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true. He had received regular communication from Remus in the first few days of the summer, though Harry had found it kind of difficult to talk about his feelings to the man. Despite this, he'd found great reassurance in the letters from the old were-wolf, and Harry was relieved to find that he hadn't been forgotten entirely. He had looked forward to the company over the holidays- but then, only seven days into their correspondence, the letters abruptly stopped.

Harry somehow suspected that Remus hadn't done it out of choice.

The only letters he had received after that were the ones sent by the Order. They were delivered promptly every three days, each message as blunt as the last.

**Harry-**

**Have you had any visions? Is your scar hurting? How are the Dursleys treating you? Please write back immediately.**

**DO NOT LEAVE THE HOUSE.**

After the first few letters, they no longer bothered to sign the paper. But that was okay, Harry didn't really care any more.

He knew that there was probably a perfectly sound and sensible reason that people were avoiding him, but he couldn't help but feel kind of jilted by the insensitive way in which they 'executed their correspondence'. So, indulging his immature and angry teenage hormones he swiped a pen off the desk and simply wrote back:

**I'm fine.**

**-Harry**

Needless to say he got a few angry replies to that. But life went on; each day rising and dying, though every day was pretty much just as dull and slow as the last for Harry. He had completed all his homework within his first week back- and by the fourth had successfully re-read most his books for the year (which was a new low, even for him).

Harry stumbled across the landing and back into bed. Glancing at the little plastic clock he wondered if he could manage a couple of hours of honest sleep before he rose to face the day again. Even after four weeks, it was still going to be a hell of a longwait till September; he shook his head and sighed- burying it further into his pillow.

Tired. Why was he always so _tired_?

...Usually, Harry a slow sleeper- too prone to keeping his mind busy and awake by thinking to damn much. Usually, sleep snuck up on him this way- fatigue steadily building during his drawn out inner monologue- filling the cracks of his mind until it gushed over the brim; wiping away his conciousness in a wave of white. But this time, in the odd milky, half-light of morning, Harry Potter was gone within seconds.

* * *

_I've been having these strange... dreams, lately. And in them: I am dying…_

* * *

**Okey, everythings going up on this account now- there were several exceedingly good reasons for this (not least a couple of severe misjudgements on my part as to my approach to writing this story), and originally I wasn't going to put Body Snatcher back up at all. But did alot of thinking and decided I'd miss it terribly if I didn't continue it. If you want the full story as to why this was taken down then throw me a PM, if not then you can expect the next couple of updates to be a bit slower cause I'm in the middle of my exams.  
For now, (as some of you have noticed) the yahoo group has also gone down- this is because I truly did originally intend to completely abandon this story. If this story gets followers again (as it has lost all of its reviewers and people on alert because of the account switch) then I may recreate it. For now, my focus is just writing the story- and hoping it can find readers again.**

* * *

Can has moar angzt nao plz.

I mean, srsly, guys, srsly.

Anyone spot the nod to the FMA movie?

Also, yay for very long chapter avec frites, as you can tell I tried to make the chapter a bit more relevant to the title this time round- though things may have gotten a little out of hand- note the endless FMA references for your enjoyment. I'm trying to lay the groundwork here for Harry/Ed(Hadward? Eddy?)'s transformation, I want it to be really clear that Harry and Ed have _always_ been the same person; this is why I wrote a very Edward-tinged version of Harry's childhood nightmares. Am I making any sense here?

And gee; Mr. Eddy Hadward does sure love his angsting.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, as always- please, please review- it really does make my day :)

Lotsa love,

EKK

(next update may be a wee bit delayed coz' of birthday ce-le-bray-shunz)


	3. II

Body Snatcher

_Ellersway_

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist.

This story is AU after Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix, and episode 51 of Fullmetal Alchemist.

(Chapter 2 re-written from June 22nd - 24th 2009)

* * *

_II_

**A Prison Break**

The dusty summer light filtered through the curtains, spilling over Harry's face in a film of milky white. His breathing was even and his features quietly serene; slowly he began to open his eyes- his mouth stretching into a lazy yawn and his toes curling around the bed sheets. Harry pulled himself upwards as he swam slowly into consciousness. He lifted his face to stare through the crack in the curtains and out at the cerulean sky; in the distance he could hear the faint hacking cough of the neighbours' lawnmower as it struggled with the parched lawn; outside, Aunt Petunia was gossiping loudly with Mrs. Aesop over the fence, and the sounds of Dudley on Mortal Kombat were drifting through the downstairs window. Harry shifted his gaze and the frame of the window cast a shadow that settled on his cheek that made him look like a man behind bars.

Harry blinked and groped blindly for his glasses before remembering that he didn't need them anymore. He wrinkled his cheeks, the instinct to reach for his glasses was second nature to him, an unavoidable tick that had lingered long after he'd chucked the broken spectacles in the trash. The boy rubbed the bridge of his nose and leisurely let his thoughts turn to his plans for the day. A few weeks ago he had finished reading all of his fifth year text books, but his craving ( for… knowledge? Magical theory? A good read?) had yet to let up. He had already successfully pilfered Dudder's science books. The first time he'd nicked one, he'd been very careful to be as discreet as possible. However, when he found the second chemistry book under a pile of crusty washing that must have been _years_ old, he figured that his cousin probably wouldn't notice the missing books at all, and grabbed as many as he could find.

_FINISH HIM._

Below his window, Harry's Aunt visibly winced, her grip tightening around the fluorescent church pamphlet ("_Jesus is the Bread of Life. Come on in and have a slice!_") that was twisted around her fingers. Harry's gaze drifted to the corner of the cul-de-sac, where the driveway met the pavement- overshadowed by a large drooping birch tree that Vernon had often bemoaned about cutting down (though he'd never got round to it). For now, the tree served as a shelter for the invisible Order members that guarded him like the crown jewels. Harry always felt a shiver of magic run down his spine when he caught their watchful gaze. It was only slight- and barely noticeable, but it was enough to let Harry know that he wasn't alone. If Harry strained hard enough he was sure he could make out the hazy, distorted edges of an invisibility charm- and the suspicious shadows that spilled over the ground when there was nothing _there_ to cast them-

_FATALITY. SCORPION WINS._

Outside, the larger of the two twittering women turned to look distastefully towards the living-room window; noticing this, his Aunt's lips tightened, her cheeks flaring pink. The gangly woman covered her embarrassment with a clipped burst of hysterical laughter, and fanned herself furiously with the yellow flyer in her hand. Harry had to stifle a laugh, letting his eyes wander back to the birch tree at the edge of the street; the inconspicuous shadows were gone now- (a glance at the clock told Harry they were probably changing shifts) - but the boy couldn't escape the feeling that somebody was watching him. He shuddered, and turned back into his room. Carefully he pulled a sheet of paper out of the GCSE Chemistry tome in which he'd been using it as a book mark; the ratty piece of A4 was curled at the edges, and unfolded to reveal a list of numbers on a wonky table entitled "Changes"; some of the numbers were underlined furiously with the letters "M-E-M" scrawled in blue biro next to them, while others were circled in a red, perfectly formed 'O'.

For all the effort that Harry had put in to stealing Dudley's text books, they had been a rather disappointing and belated read. All of the principals that they outlined seemed fairly obvious to Harry, and offered little challenge to his intellectually-starved brain. So, seething with boredom Harry found himself forging a plot to escape from the Dursleys- and today would see his plan come to fruition. Today was going to be a _good day_. Today, Harry would to go to the book store.

Touch wood.

Hermione, he was sure- would be proud. If not of his new found intellectual puberty or lust for science and knowledge- then certainly of the very methodical, logical way in which he'd puzzled his way out of his prison. It had all started with the graph laid out on the desk before him; he had drawn up a table in which to record the shifting rota used by his guardians. Part of him knew that _to a certain degree_ this was a stupid idea- that the Order was there for his safety… _but_, another part of him couldn't help but feel exhilarated at the chance to outsmart them. _If _he could outsmart them. After all- he'd only get one shot- and once he was caught there'd be no way that the Order'd ever let a slip like that happen again. There would be no second chances. So Harry had planned in meticulous detail his method of getting past the guards; recording the date and time of every change- and if possible- who it was that was actually on watch. It was easier to tell with some members than others. Tonks, for instance, never used an invisibility cloak or charm- instead opting for the guise of a withered old woman- while Lupin always used a Notice-Me-Not. Kingsley and the other Aurors used invisibility spells- with varying degrees of success; the weaker ones were always betrayed by the way the atmosphere twisted and distorted around them like hot air above a candle, while the stronger ones were made of something denser- like a sheet of glass- completely invisible to the eye until they caught the sun '_just right'_ and flared like a magnifying glass in the sun. Under the shade of the birch tree it was almost impossible to spot them. Moody was the hardest to find- and would be impossible to sneak past successfully- he always wore an invisibility cloak that left no trace of his presence but for a faint, crooked shadow behind him. Harry had marked the hours that Moody stood guard with "M-E-M" and knew he had to avoid any changes involving the man. Harry knew that if he tried to escape with Mad-Eye on guard, he wouldn't go unspotted… and he wasn't entirely sure exactly what the unhinged Auror might do when he caught him. _Best,_ Harry thought, _not to find out_.

A few weeks of deliberating had revealed a five minute window that opened only once every Tuesday. Kingsley would be swapping with Tonks at two thirty-five, giving Harry only moments to slip past as the Metamorphmagus walked from the Apparation point outside Mrs. Figg's to the bottom of the Dursley's Drive. In this time Harry would have to get out of the house and make it down the street unseen- if he could get to the park he'd be able to find the narrow path made by the cyclists down onto the little pavement that followed the canal. Nice, discreet, quiet, cool and shady and running underneath all the main roads and bridges that eventually led into town. All Harry had to do was follow the canal until he reached the back of the Lidl's car park, scramble up the bank and get in to town that way. From there it would take him about five minutes to reach the bookshop, maybe ten to find what he was looking for and then he'd just hightail it out of there and hopefully get back before they even noticed he was gone. Yeah. Job's a goodun'.

Of course, he couldn't get back too soon. He had two hours before Tonks swapped places with Lupin, and Harry didn't want to risk arriving beforehand and catching the girl before she'd left her place outside the driveway. But then again… arrive too late and Lupin was the type to do a scan of the property to check on the boy, it would take the werewolf all of two seconds to discover he was missing. Harry grimaced, he didn't want to imagine the disappointment on the older man's face, and for a second he wondered if a couple of books were really worth the trouble…

But Harry's legs were itching to run; his muscles were tense and ready to leap at the slightest provocation; his mind had been rubbed raw by a cabin fever that had forced him to pick and re-pick at his brain until all of his dreams and memories had been analysed, and his mind felt like little more than despondent mush. Harry needed to get out. Now. Fast. The books were merely an excuse to stretch his lame, abused limbs.

Harry stretched and yawned, closing one feline eye to gaze sullenly at the ceiling. The bed groaned in protest as he rolled off the mattress, landing in a cat-like crouch on the floor; Harry reached over to his trunk and pulled a list off the top of its lid, flattening it carefully over his knee.

_Physics, Chem. (Herm fwd)  
Exist + AU theorem  
__Alchemy____ muggle hist. link??  
/ humours?? / mug lit. PS.  
12 uses ____ Drag. Bld  
Philosophy of EQUIVALENCY  
Symbology  
Dream Interp. ____ (__ask Ron__ for div.)_

Underneath the column, he wrote in small, shaky letters:

_2.35 – __4.15_

Sucking the end of his pen thoughtfully, he circled the last date before underlining it again- just for good measure, and stuffed the whole thing in his pocket. A noise distracted Harry from his thoughts, and he turned to the window where Vernon was clearly struggling in the driveway, grasping at a large box with porky fingers; his grip was poor and the box teetered precariously on the edge of collapse, the man wobbled- sending a wave of 'S'-shaped polystyrene baubles spilling onto the pavement. Harry sighed. He'd be cleaning that up later, then. Other than his bumbling Uncle, Harry noticed that there were no other sounds coming from the garden; Petunia had gone inside, and Mortal Kombat was blissfully silent.

Currently, the time was eight past eleven, and Harry had a good few hours to kill before he'd put the final stages of his plan into action. That said, it didn't hurt to be prepared, and he scooped up the little pile of coins and two folded fivers that were tucked snugly in the corner of his trunk, putting the money in the front left pocket of his jeans.

Rooting through the deceptively large trunk-space for the last of his carefully-scrounged change, Harry felt his hands ghost over a thick wad of parchment stuffed into an open envelope. Ah. The letter.

Earlier in the summer, when he'd only just finished reading his textbooks and his prison break plot was barely a fledgling idea in his mind, he had written a letter to Hermione. Now, he said it was for Hermione- but that was only because hers was the first name that came to his mind when he'd first jotted down the note. It could just have easily been for Ron, or Dumbledore- or another letter to Mooney. In actuality the letter was for himself, more than anyone else. Somehow, what started off as a quiet request for any books the girl still had on Alchemy- had somehow become a diary of his dreams; an exact account of every nightmare he had had over the last few months, written in precise, torturous detail. It was a calming, almost therapeutic experience, like using a pensive- as if writing down the dreams removed them from the immediate forefront of his mind. Harry never read the letter, but he knew he couldn't send it. He'd find _those_ books himself. Instead he ended up sending her a short request for any science texts she or her parents might have had lying round the house. He never got a reply.

Alchemy seemed to be focus of his dreams nowadays. When the trio had searched for information about Nicholas Flamel, they hadn't had enough time to look into the nature of Alchemy and the Stone before they were forced to raid the Third Floor corridor to protect it. After that, there hadn't really been much of a need to research Alchemy any further- though he was pretty sure that Hermione had wanted to do some background reading- but back then, Harry hadn't thought anything of it. Just like- _back then_- he hadn't thought anything of the fact that Dumbledore had destroyed the Philosophers Stone, either.

Harry shuddered. No. That was not something he was even going to think about.

But the fact remained, that despite his brush with the Red Stone in his first year at Hogwarts, he still knew virtually _nothing_ about Alchemy- and this unsettled him. Not just because the art formed the axis of his dreams- but because it felt like something he _should_ know. What frightened Harry was that, when he slept, his mind created a person who had an aptitude (more than an aptitude, really) for Alchemy- and who was completely at ease with occultesque arrays and transmutation circles… but Harry- _real Harry_- wasn't supposed to know how Alchemy even worked. He'd never been told about it. He'd never read about it. He was sure he'd never even so much as walked in on a discussion about it- Alchemy, as far as he knew, was a pretty much a forbidden- and more importantly- _forgotten _art.

So that was why Harry needed to find a book on it. Anything would do. All he needed was one glance and flick through the tome to tell if there really were such things as transmutation circles- or if the whole thing was just a product of Harry's stretched, fanciful imagination.

The thing that really scared the boy, though, was the possibility of finding out that it was all… _real_. That somehow, somewhere, there existed a person called Edward Elric, 'the Fullmetal Alchemist'- who really, truly _was_ an Alchemist and who really _did_ fight dead and evil creatures over the Philosophers Stone- something which was created by sacrificing a thousand human lives and ohgodohgodoh_hell_… Harry was terrified, as what it might all mean. If it were true. (Which Harry had no way of knowing until he got to the Hogwarts library- which he couldn't do until September- which meant he had to occupy himself and suffer in relative silence until then…)

Observe here, readers, the end of yet another vicious cycle of thought.

"Boy!"

Harry snapped out of his reverie, eyes flying to the door; his Uncle was no longer outside, it seemed, and hollered at him from the bottom of the stairway.

"Get your scrawny legs down here now! Your Aunt's got a job for you!" Harry pulled on one of Dudley's old school blouses and was out of the door just in time to catch the half-mumbled "lazy little sod" before thundering down the stairs. Best not keep the monster waiting.

He paused before entering the kitchen, stopping at the doorway to flatten the sprig of hair that stood to attention on his forehead- refusing to lie still.

"Yes Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked as he stepped into the kitchen. His Aunt had her back to him and was engrossed in the construction of a rather elaborate cake for the local sugar-craft fair. Dudley eyed it gluttonously while Uncle Vernon sat at the table, cardboard box open at his feet and flicking through what appeared to be an instruction manual with the same reverence most men saved for a playboy magazine. Vernon glanced up as Harry entered the room- and squinting at his nephew he scowled, his ruddy face wobbling slightly- before turning his attention back to a particularly baffling FAQ on installing newfangled drill bits. There had been a spark of anticipation in his uncle's gaze, but Harry did not have the time to figure out why before-

"_You_ will be weeding out the flowerbeds today," Petunia said, trimming the icing on the rather spectacular looking eight-tier wedding cake; his cousin's lustful gaze only seeming to grow with each new layer she added to the monstrosity.

"Can I eat it?" Dudders slavered, a thick rain of spittle hitting the work top. Petunia gave an exasperated grimace and wiped the puddle with a tea towel before throwing it pointedly at Harry who had frozen with a strange look on his face.

_Déjà vu_.

"No." she said sharply. Dudley's eyes widened at his mothers tone and Petunia paused before simpering: "No, _Duddykins_." Appeased, but still slightly flabbergasted, the boy waddled off into the living room. Petunia turned her gaze to Harry, "Why are you still _here_?"

"I'm not." Harry said- turning to leave but was stopped by a rumbling cough from his uncle.

"Don't you talk to your Aunt like that _Boy_. Who do you think you are?"

_I am the Fullmetal Alchemist._

Harry's head spun and he blinked slowly. "_Nothing_-" he said, taking a small step backwards. "I mean- nobody, right- _sorry_."

Taking this as his cue to leave, he dodged the behemoth that was his cousin, and ducked out of the French doors with all the skill of a master escape artist. He'd have to make sure he got the gardening done before two, so that he'd have time to go back in the house and wait for the end of Kingsley's shift. He stormed into the garden, this better work, fuck-ing hell, _this better work_.

* * *

As the full weight of the midday sun beat down on the frazzled young boy, Harry found himself wondering exactly where his earlier optimism had come from. The spot between his shoulder blades itched with what might have been his spidey sense, but was more likely to be a case of rapidly developing sunburn- or a good old mozzie bite. Harry shivered, burying the trowel into the ground with perhaps a little more force than necessary, and muttered a string of four-lettered expletives.

Somebody was watching him. Harry was knelt directly in front of the wall by which Kingsley was stood, but the man wasn't looking at him. Harry knew this because Kingsley's gaze was heavy and severe and left him feeling slightly winded, while _this _was a small scratching sensation that niggled at the base of his spine. Somebody was watching him, and it wasn't Kingsley. Giving in to hopeless curiosity, Harry turned around sharply to try and catch the eyes of whoever was looking at him so intently. To his surprise he found nothing- not just invisible-nothing, but _nothing_-nothing, no shadow or shimmer or-

Wait. _There_.

Across the street from Harry, his eyes met the stare of Arabella Figg. The old woman was peering despondently at him through a gap in her filthy net curtains, and Harry gave an involuntary shudder. Her eyes seemed slightly cold, with an intelligent sheen that might just have been the light and contrasted with her soft, crumpled face. Elderly skin hung like fragile lace off her skull, stretched thinly over high cheekbones and a delicate chin; there were crows feet clutching at the edges of her eyes, but the crease above her full, speckled mouth hadn't darkened with age. There were no laugh lines there. Despite this, Harry thought, she must have once been very beautiful.

Almost immediately, the woman's demeanour changed, and it was obvious now that she had noticed him staring back at her. She gave a small, crooked smile and closed her eyes sleepily; lifting a withered hand to wave at him through the glsdd- and Harry suddenly felt rather sheepish. Man, he was getting paranoid; this was _Mrs. Figg_- not a Death Eater. Mrs. Figg who'd always stuffed him with stale crispy cake. Mrs. Figg who'd always been pleased to see him and had treated him much like the grandchild she'd never had… Harry _knew_ that she didn't have any grandchildren. Not because she'd told him so- it wasn't really the sort of thing you asked about, but because of the way she made her Ribena. Mrs. Figg had bought a bottle just for the days that Harry came over- keeping it in the cupboard where it collected a tell-tale layer of dust between his visits; the woman would always take a plastic cup- which would be grimy in a way that only cups cleaned by the half-blind could be- and fill it, half water- _half Ribena_. The resulting concoction was so strong and saccharine that Harry could feel his eyes turning bloodshot in their sockets, salt-water brimming in his tear ducts and his throat spluttering madly. But Harry was a good boy, and where other children would have screamed and cried indignantly, he sat obediently on the worn, patchy sofa- cat-album in his left hand, Ribena in his right, settling to take careful, mediated sips of the blackberry liquor every two-or-so pages.

Harry sighed, the woman was an oddity, and he hadn't spoken to her in over a year now. He quietly let his mind drift back through those childhood memories- and found the transition surprisingly painless. He remembered all the days he'd spend perusing her various photo albums, full of generations-worth of cat-related records, photographs, collars and veterinary certificates. Once, he recalled, he'd found a _real_ photo album amongst the others, one that dated back to the Second World War- only to realise, once he'd opened it, that it was full of telegrams, not photographs. As soon as the woman had seen what he was holding, she'd scooped up the book from his hands and bundled it back into the cabinet, under a case that proudly displayed some sort of antique military-issue sword. It seemed that- to Harry at least, some things were simply meant to remain a mystery.

A glance upwards told Harry that she was gone from the window now, and Harry wondered briefly what the time was. Surely enough, the clock in the Dursley's kitchen pointed to twenty-seven past two. Shit. He had to get his stuff together quickly. Carefully he rose from the flower bed, turning back to the house before creeping stealthily through the double glass doors. Petunia didn't notice him as he swept through the kitchen- darting up the stairs and into his bedroom where he'd hidden one of Dudley's old hoodies. Shifting his arms through the jacket, it clearly swamped him- but it would serve its purpose fine and was certainly better than nothing. He pulled one of Dudley's weathered beanies out of his sock drawer and yanked it over his temperamental hair, hiding his scar as well as most of his forehead, his longish locks poking out persistently at the back. He looked- he was fairly certain- like a regular yob. The lack of glasses worked in his favour. Carefully, Harry patted his pockets to check that everything was still there, and grabbed his wand from the top of his trunk- just in case; then he threw a calm glance out the window. It was two thirty-three and the swap over would begin any second, out the corner of his eye he saw Kingsley cancel his invisibility charm.

Now. Do it now.

Harry raced- as quietly as he could, back down the landing and into the downstairs bathroom. He locked the door behind him and faced the small window above the sink. With two steps he sprung onto the basin where he perched precariously, fiddling with the lock on the window until the latch swung free. Pulling himself upwards he wormed his way through the little rectangular window before landing squarely behind the neighbours garden shed, hitting the tarmac with a thud that rattled the recycle bins. Harry turned to look back at the window he'd wriggled through. Had he been a boy of… larger stature he might not have made it out the other side. But as it was, his lean, lithe frame had allowed him to escape quite effortlessly into the Aesop's back garden, where he quickly scaled their fence and jumped over onto the path behind it.

As he fell into a crouch on the dusty path there was a quiet yelp to his right- so small that Harry barely noticed it; turning he came face to face with a little kid holding the handlebars of a push bike. The child looked startled and slightly terrified, silently staring up at Harry with something akin to awed, reverent horror. Harry stood up straight and the little boy closed his mouth, swallowing thickly. He probably thought Harry was a thief or something, he certainly looked the part- the very picture of youthful, chav-esque rebellion. The older boy gave a wolfish grin and took off at a sprint down the path, the child's wide eyes goggling after him.

The wind was hard and cool against Harry's face as he ran, and he felt all the tension in his muscles start to unwind with the brief rush of adrenaline that pumped through his veins. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd ran for, but eventually the path hit a dead end, capped off by a small and rusty, green kissing gate which shrieked when he opened it. Harry winced, eyes flicking back down the path behind him- he wasn't being followed, _yet_. The gate opened up onto a wide field with a playground at one end and a set of decaying white goal posts on the other. As Harry passed the metal frame he almost tripped on the muddy net that had been half-ripped off the rectangular post- clinging to the pole like a pair of pants pushed round someone's ankles. At the other end of the pitch, the other net had disappeared entirely.

Stumbling slightly, Harry moved to the perimeter of the field; eyes scanning the undergrowth for the little path carved by the local bikers which would hopefully lead to the canal. Sure enough, as he waded through the nettles his feet eventually met a space where the tall grasses parted, giving way to a steep, muddy slope that was scarred with what must have been a hundred cycle tracks. Each led (more or less), in a haphazard but clear line to an area of tarmac which was only just visible through the thick throng of trees; here all of the lines converged, leaving muddy tracks of dried dirt that spilt out unbidden onto the pathway. This was it. Harry turned to his side and braced himself against a tree before jumping down a little further; the slope was treacherous, and Harry remembered having slipped many times as a child in the process of escaping from Dudders and his gang. It was those experiences, however, that had given Harry such an intricate knowledge of the back alleys of Little Whinging, so he couldn't really complain- without them he'd still be stuck back bored stiff at Privet Drive. With a muffled plop, he skidded down the rest of the bank and hit the pavement below. Taking only a second to observe his surroundings, he started walking left towards the town centre. Around him the graffiti was thick, and empty plastic bottles of value lemonade bobbed happily in the weedy edges of the canal. Harry slunk further into the shadows cast by the long cement wall on the other side of the water, listening to the slow hiss and drip that echoed everywhere around him. About a hundred yards away, Harry could see the faint outline of a shopping trolly- dumped upside down in the water, back wheels sticking out of the weeds like a petrified limb. _Must be close to the supermarket then_, the boy thought, hurrying up his pace a notch. As he drew closer he noticed the missing football net- knotted around the handle of the trolly and drifting gently on the water.

Eventually Harry came side by side with the trolly- only to have his attention drawn by the plastic bags that were caught up in the trees next to him. They floated like ghostly flags that caught his eye and directed him towards the little muddy trail that led upwards out of the canal and into the back of the supermarket. Harry followed the trail of detritus up the bank, before heaving himself up level with the tarmac. He found himself now in the staff parking area of what his memory told him _used_ to be a Lidl's but had apparently at some point been bought out to become a Tesco's. Damn… how long had it been since he'd been in the muggle world again?

Quietly he shuffled past the cars and crossed the road to reach the main street. Great. He was here. Now what?

A quick glance down the high street wasn't very helpful. Apparently the old bookstore- Ottaker's had gone out of business, as its place on the very corner of the street was now taken up by what seemed to be some swish, Nouvelle 'coffee house' that boasted its specials on a board full of brightly chalked Italian that nobody could read. Harry sniffed. Around him people were giving him all sorts of funny looks, as if a _youth_ wearing a hoodie and hat in August could _only_ be up to no good. Keeping his head down, Harry adopted a lazy gait, walking down the street at a medium tempo- not wanting to stand out, but needing to find a bookshop, _fast_. He sighed loudly. This was not convenient.

His eyes lit up as they landed on a building that was covered head to toe in scaffolding, with a large and rather obnoxious cardboard sign clumsily painted to look like an open book. The words on its front said: "_Undergoing Construction. We are still open!_"

"Bingo." Harry muttered, mouth twisting into a smile before cutting through the crowd and marching over to the other side of the street. Ducking into the shade of the scaffolding, he pushed open the heavy door. Inside the building was cramped and claustrophobic. Apparently the place was a second hand store that didn't only sell books; in the corner of the room there was a crooked rail that supported a rack-full of crumbling cardigans, and underneath that there was a rather neglected looking cardboard box brimming with worn, dog-eared toys. A brunette girl sat pulling at her split ends sullenly on the counter; her white t-shirt was far too tight for her chest and there was a sticky label plastered over her bosom, with the word 'Emily' written in bubblegum pink, her 'i' dotted with two carefully-crafted little hearts. The girl looked up at him with large doe eyes, before twirling her fingers around a lock of her hair; she gave a perfectly formed grin, lips pursed in a way which reminded Harry sickeningly enough of his Aunt. And that was enough to put any guy off straight away. Pointedly avoiding the girl's gaze- Harry let his eyes scan the board above the counter. It told him (in no uncertain terms) that all of the 'non-fiction: reference' books were on level B. Harry let out a breathy sigh of relief.

To the basement, then.

Harry scooted around the maze of shelves, dodging a woman with a wailing pram, until he reached the set of narrow stairs that descended into the basement. The lower level of the building was a dank and daunting labyrinth of bookshelves; a catacomb that was lit by two electric strip lights speckled with dead flies and flickering out of time with each other. The whole room smelt wet, but Harry was simply grateful that he was no longer being stripped bare by the lustful stare of some wanton teen. Turning to the nearest bookcase, Harry set to work straight away- running a finger over the spines of each book as he passed them. Everything was so _old_, and set in no particular order. Despite the fact that the board had said that this was the 'non-fiction' area, he had already passed two editions of Henrik Ibsen's 'A Doll's House', as well as several Enid Blyton books and an anthology of Shakespearean sonnets.

Harry rumpled his forehead- perhaps this would be harder than he'd initially thought. He'd lost track of the time too, there was no clock in the basement and the enclosed, damp atmosphere of the place left him feeling ill at ease.

However, the good thing about the shop being second hand was that Harry got a lot more for his money, and he found that his carefully scrounged tenner would go a lot further than he'd first imagined. Instead of only being able to choose one book, he'd been able to pick up four- and still have change to spare. On his pile the spines could be read as follows:

_Steppenwolf, Hermann Hesse  
AQA A-Level Chemistry. Letts.  
F. Kafka "The Myth of Sisyphus"  
Practical Application of Symbology and Semiotics in History- Dr. Christian Orn_

Most of the books he had picked up had been because of a gut, instinctual reaction. Harry didn't have time to scour the bookcases too thoroughly, so he simple chose the ones that had leapt at him as his finger dragged across their surface.

Harry shuffled slowly, he knew he really should leave soon, but he had enough money to buy at least one more book- and he didn't want to go without picking up something else, there was no way of telling if he'd get an opportunity like this again. Almost as soon as the thought raced through his head, his finger came to rest on a navy-coloured, medium-sized book that seemed to have at some point lost it's cover, pulling it out of its resting place Harry's eyes fell on the front, on which someone had stuck a tacky white label with the words "Conquering Shamballa: A Qualitative Essay" written on them in capital letters- and underneath, scrawled in biro- was the name of the writer, one "Prof. Grötman, Olivia S.R.".

_Right. That'll do,_ Harry thought, placing the book on the top of his pile. He didn't have time to deliberate and so started on up the stairs without even so much as flicking through the book in his hands.

He dumped the books on the desk with a heavy thud, rooting through his pockets to find his money. The buxom girl waited for him to put the cash on the table before saying-

"Hi! I'm Emily."

Harry blinked at her owlishly. He could see that, it was kinda hard not to notice, actually, what with her chest shoved firmly in the forefront of his vision.

If the girl was at all perturbed by his lack of an answer- then she didn't show it. "What's your name, huh?" She fluttered her eyelashes. Harry wondered if she was taking the piss.

"Uh… Oh, I'm-" _The Fullmetal Alchemist_ "- Ha-_ahh_-Al. _Phonse_. Alphonse."

Harry shook his head slightly. Alphonse? _Really_? He was losing his touch.

"Oh!" The girl squealed, and Harry winced. "That is _too_ _cu_-"

But the girl didn't get a chance to finish as the door to the shop slammed open, making her jump- choking briefly on her chewing gum.

Harry didn't turn to look, in all honesty- he didn't need to. But a quick glance at the clock above the counter told him it was only ten to four- they shouldn't have noticed he was gone yet.

"Wotcher, _Alphonse_." A voice said from behind his ear, and he felt a slender arm sling itself over his shoulder- his heart sinking in his chest. Great. _Fucking_- just... _great_. Four spikes of azure hair scratched at his chin where Tonks leant over his shoulder. "What you looking at?" she said sharply to the girl at the counter- whose gaze oscillated between the two, a furious blush staining her cheeks. Picking his books off the counter, the colourful Auror dragged Harry somewhat roughly out of the shop by the arm, before turning back towards him- her face torn between righteous disapproval and an almost _proud_, mischievous amusement. "Nice hat."

Harry was never going to live this down.

"Come on then- _ladies man_." She drawled, eyebrows raised, and Harry spluttered in embarrassment. "Give us your best shot. I'm all ears."

"Huh?" He said dumbly, heat creeping up the side of his neck.

Tonks was having none of it. "You're really not giving me enough credit, you know, I _am _a trained Auror. You wanna tell me why you decided it would be fun to skip town?"

"I wasn't-" Harry started, "I mean- I just…" _Just what?_ He asked himself. It all seemed pretty trivial now, when faced with the absolute shame of being caught in the act. Harry sucked in a long breath. "I just wanted to buy some books."

The spunky little woman gave a pause before snorting in barely concealed mirth. "…_Books?_" she said incredulously, "Sure you weren't just out to chat up poor unsuspecting shop assistants?"

Harry, who had been half expecting a proper Vernon-style scolding only gaped, turning five shades of red. "Aren't you mad?"

"Nah," she said flippantly, "s'not like you were out doing hardcore drugs or anything." The woman turned to him with dancing eyes. "I'm actually kinda surprised this didn't happen earlier- and you're lucky it was me that caughtcha'- not Mad Eye." The pair grimaced simultaneously. "That said- next time you want to give anyone the slip- do it on somebody _else_'s watch- not mine. I'd get absolutely bollocked if anyone found out about the stunt you just pulled."

Harry was flabbergasted. "You mean- you're not going to_ tell_ anyone?"

"Not this time, kid." She said. "But you gotta promise you won't try anything like this again. I know this house arrest thing sucks. I _know _it sucks. But it really is for your own good- y'know what I'm saying? Gotta stay on the safe side what with old You-Know-Who out and about again. Seriously, Harry. _Priorities_. A coupla books ain't worth dying over." Harry had the good grace to look embarrassed here, and Tonks' gaze softened once again. "Look. I'll have a word with Remus; see if we can break you out of that shit-hole some time. Not making any promises 'cept that, well, I promise I'll _try_." She smiled and rubbed his arm before giving a short bark of laughter. "Come on then- lets be havin' ya. Gotta get back to your relatives before old Mooney has a heart attack."

The walk home took place in a comfortable silence. Harry didn't bother asking for information on the Order. It wasn't exactly something they could talk about out in the open- and Harry was sure that Tonks probably wouldn't tell him anyway, Dumbledore seemed to have left pretty specific instructions regarding the state of perpetual ignorance that Harry should be kept in-and he didn't want to take his misplaced anger out on Tonks.

As they reached the end of Privet Drive, Harry gripped the edges of his books tightly; head sweltering under the heat of his beanie. Tonks turned to elbow him in the ribs, before carrying on down to the end of the cul-de-sac.

"Just in time," she grinned, "cheer up chuck- you'll be back at Hogwarts before you know it!" Harry shrugged and she tapped her forehead twice with her wand, apparating, with a crack down to the end of the road, the words "see ya round Harry" echoing on the wind behind her.

Feeling slightly deflated, Harry tucked his books under his arm and took off the hoodie and hat- rolling them up before racing into the house to hide everything away in the corner of his room. Unfortunately- Harry remembered, there was still weeding to be done outside, but the thought of an evening spent curled up with one of his purchases was enough to make him put on a brave face for the approaching afternoon of labour. As Harry strode reluctantly down the stairs, he could hear his Uncle struggling with the bathroom door. Apparently it was locked from the inside. But his uncle- unwilling to be emasculated by a piece of wood- was struggling awkwardly with the handle, making small, piggy grunting noises.

Harry felt his eyes tighten with a smug, inward smile. He'd probably get blamed for it later, but hell, it'd be nice to take the blame for something he actually _did_ for once- and with that, he stepped into the garden. The boy rolled up his sleeves as he walked and he threw a casual wave in the direction that he knew Lupin would be stationed.

Without waiting for a response, Harry silently dropped to his knees beside the flowerbed and started to shovel away at the dirt, muscles tautening with the familiar, angry motion. His mind was filled with a comfortable white noise that allowed him to block out heavy thoughts and feelings. He was safe here, in this guarded place. Perhaps this was Occlumency- in some twisted form, he didn't know- and didn't allow himself to follow up that line of thought. He knew where it ended. Instead he just listened to the pleasant, pulsing, _blank _sound that trickled between his ears.

What frightened Harry most, though- was that even in this safe place, where his thoughts were under control… if he listened long enough to the hushed static that protected him… he could clearly hear words. Five words; each slowly repeated with complete conviction, over and over and over and _over_ by a voice that was little more than an angry whisper.

I am the Fullmetal Alchemist.

I am the Fullmetal Alchemist.

_I am the Fullmetal Alchemist_.

* * *

Sorry for the wait guys. Exams are over now though, so you can expect updates more frequently :) yay! This chapter is basically a game of Spot-the-Britishisms, as well as spot-the-poorly-concealed-plot-devices. There were important things in this chapter. Blink and you'll miss them.

Thanks for all your support and reviews n stuff- it was disheartening to loose everything I had before and start from scratch, but some of the reviews I've been getting have really made me feel like putting this back up was worth the effort.

Just to let the few of you know who asked- this story WILL be Roy/Ed EVENTUALLY. As in 150,000 words ahead EVENTUALLY, maybe more- and even then- while the pairing will play a nifty plot-important role, this story will never do a 180 and suddenly become a romance-centric fic. That said, I already have some of those scenes written, (I really couldn't help myself). But you wont be seeing them for a good while!! ;)

Please review- let me know what you think!

ILY, guys

Ellersway


	4. III

Body Snatcher

_Ellersway _

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist. :( Lame, I know.

This story is AU after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and episode 51 of Fullmetal Alchemist.

(Chapter 1 re-written from June 27th  July 4th 2009)

* * *

_III_

**Return to Grimmauld Place**

Harry woke up on the morning of August 30th in a cold hard sweat. A glance at the clock on his windowsill told him it was three in the morning, and the sky outside was still and black as pitch. Panting heavily, he ran a hand through his long, matted hair. The dreams had been bad tonight; the word 'brother' still echoed between his ears and his skull throbbed with the scream that was bottled there.

_Shit_. He thought he was past this.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his stale clothes, jeans and shirt crumpled by sleep- a welt forming on his chest where his belt had pressed into him as he lay on his stomach. For the past few days, Harry had managed to sleep dreamlessly- it was a strange anomaly- though not at all unappreciated. However, tonight marked a return to the violent cycle of nightmares that had marred his nights for the past few months. Tonight Harry had been in the basement.

(the blood- the boy- the _rotting_-)

The dream- however, had been interrupted. Harry never made it passed the greedy fire that consumed his leg, because something woke him up- a noise that pierced the veil of sleep to drag him back to the waking world. His mind still spun with the contents of his dream, scientific equations running in bright streams across his eyelids, twisting themselves to form circled and sigils that weighed on his consciousness and made Harry's head ache. For a second- Harry racked his mind to remember what it was that had disturbed his nightmare, but his thoughts were interrupted when a loud bang and scuffling noise broke the silence-

"Ow-_shhhhhh_…" came a pained cry, abruptly cut short by the low sibilant sound of hushed voices; they were muffled, and Harry struggled to pick out words from the dim hum. Now he could hear footsteps on the landing.

"_Wait_." A voice said, hoarse- as if from a cough or too much screaming. Suddenly there was silence. The footsteps stopped. "Did you hear that?"

"What- they outside already?" A distinctly female voice chimed- louder now, as if she'd forgotten to whisper.

"- No- I mean, I think we woke him up."

There was a soft grunt, and a third, gruff voice added, "_Good,_ we've got to get the boy out as quickly as-"

"- and how long do we _actually_ have?"

"Not enough time to waste standin' around yappin', come on- _let's move_."

The hinges of Harry's bedroom door rattled, and he jumped out of the bed- reaching for his wand and pointing it at the trembling wood, curse already half-formed on his lips. The movement stopped- and Harry heard the word '_Alohomora_' uttered quietly, stifled through the timber, and a pale light sifted through the gaps in the door- forming tiny little hands which grabbed at the crude chain and eyelet Harry had used to lock his room, pawing at the hook, until the chain swung free. The door flew open.

"Harry!"

Outside stood Tonks, Lupin and Moody, and for a second Harry wondered why he hadn't recognised their voices. The smile on the face of the violet-haired Auror faded slightly when Harry didn't lower his wand.

The boy narrowed his eyes. "What did Sirius post me when you were teaching at Hogwarts?" It was vague enough not to give any clues, but specific enough to catch out anyone who didn't know him personally. Harry would have asked about Wormtail, but that could've been common knowledge amongst the death eaters by now.

Tonks glanced nervously up at Remus, whose face was obscured by the darkness of the corridor.

"Your Firebolt, Harry, Christmas of your third year; I think Sirius was trying to make up for lost time. Unfortunately Minerva confiscated it because we had to have it checked and stripped. Ron was quite devastated, if I remember rightly." There was something soft in his voice as he spoke, and Harry winced.

"Right-" he mumbled, "- sorry… I just thought I should-"

"Shouldn't be sorry about it lad," Moody barked- cutting him off before pushing in front of him to peer through the gap in the window curtains. "Constant vigilance." The Auror started to mutter spells- systematically pointing his wand at random places in the room. Harry watched him dumbfoundedly, the edges of his mind still dulled by sleep. Behind him, Tonks followed the grizzly man's lead while Remus checked his watch in measured intervals.

"Uh…" Harry began. "So, what are you doing?"

There was a pause, his statement hanging unanswered in the morning air and each of the figures seemed to ignore his question- still absorbed in their own tasks. But before Harry could ask again, Tonks turned to face him.

"Gotta get your stuff together Harry. Rumour has it old Snake-Face is planning an attack sometime soon and we-"

"We have reason to believe that your current… _residence_ may not be entirely secure." Lupin added, eyeing Harry's room with distaste. Harry blushed in the darkness and followed the whites of the werewolf's eyes to where his gaze rested on the cat flap in the door- his eyes narrowing at the sight of the four remaining broken bolts that were screwed at random above the outer handle of the door, lame and useless; left broken- (partially because of his Uncle's indolence) as a reminder of his imprisonment all those years ago. Thankfully Remus didn't ask, though his silhouette visibly tightened.

Suddenly Harry felt a cold hand grab his, and Tonks pulled him over to his trunk. "Come on!" She said, scooping great handfuls of books and parchment haphazardly into his trunk. Harry blinked, and hurriedly stuffed his wand into his pocket before prizing open the loose floorboard with his fingers. Fumbling with the slim wooden panel he winced as a splinter lodged itself firmly under his nail; shaking his hand he slammed it against the floor- and the floorboard flipped open.

Tonks looked up from the trunk expectantly- but Harry didn't notice- oblivious to her curiosity. Carefully he reached into the rectangular crevice, and gently- as if handling a piece of precious glass, he pulled out a brown package- perfect but for the small, hairline rips that betrayed it's previously-opened state. He cradled the package in the crook of his arm like a baby, before collecting up some of his other belongings and replacing the panel. Silently he placed the items- along with the package- into his open trunk and closed the lid. Abandoned on his desk lay his OWL results, Harry crumpled up the letter and stuck it in his pocket.

Tonks frowned, "Is that everything?" she said. "Where are your clothes?"

Harry cringed and shrugged lamely, not really wanting to tell her that he was wearing them. "No, that's everything." The vibrant young woman looked like she wanted to protest further, and her cherry-painted mouth opened and closed like a fish, her brows furrowing.

Lupin cut her off before she could speak, however. "Portkey's valid in five; we need to get to the apparation point." He angled his wrist so that Tonks could see what was written on the watch. There were no numbers on the watch-face and it only had one hand- which pointed to a small marker denoted by the words 'Five minutes to go, don't be late!', this was in turn nestled comfortably between 'Times approaching, keep an eye' and 'Right on Time!'. With a nod, the colourful Auror grabbed his trunk by the handle, and started to pull it through the door.

Moody turned away from the window with a rumbling- "We're going now." – and Harry, feeling more than slightly bewildered, felt himself being ushered towards the door and out onto the landing.

"Wait!" He said. "What about the Dursleys? I mean… you said there was going to be an attack-"

"Don't worry, Harry." Remus said, his voice hoarse yet strangely soothing to the boy's ears. "Your relatives are going to be fine. This is just a precaution." Harry tried not to notice the way the man stumbled over the word 'relatives', which came out in a guttural growl. Instead Harry just nodded dumbly, lethargy creeping in at the edges of his vision. He spared a glance back up the stairway and wondered how his family were sleeping through this racket, his trunk slamming against each step as they descended down the stairs. As if reading Harry's mind, Tonks pointed her wand at the luggage with a flourish and a hushed '_silencio'_.

Quietly now, the four made their way to the front door where Harry could see a few more dark, smeared figures through the frosted glass. Opening the door with a small click, Harry recognised the cloaked men as Order members. Kingsley turned to look at him and with a motion of his hand the Aurors formed a tight-circle around him and started to push him hurriedly up the path. Throwing one last glance up at the Dursley's bedroom window, he wondered how long it would take them to notice he was gone. Silently the wizards swept past the wilting birch tree and to the end of the road where Harry had witnessed them come and go for the last few months, the entourage stopped under a lamp post which flickered and died, plunging them into complete darkness. Harry let his eyes scan lazily over the area, the street slept unbeknownst of what was going on outside their houses- that said, Harry swore he could have seen a flicker of net-curtains out the corner of his eye.

Harry's musings ended abruptly as Remus drew a playing card out from his pocket, holding it out to the boy with a warm, calloused hand.

_Ah_, Harry thought, _a portkey_.

"It should activate any second." The man said, his voice barely a whisper hanging on the still night air. "Don't forget to hold on." He smiled, and Harry felt his lips curve sleepily.

There was a series of sharp cracks as some of the Order members disapparated, leaving Harry alone with Kingsley, Remus and Moody- whose eyes digested the open street around them. "They're just going on ahead," Remus said, throwing a glance at his watch. "Okay, any time now-"

Harry didn't hear the end of his sentence, because at that moment he felt the familiar tug behind his navel as the portkey activated. The card tingled warmly in his hands, and Harry shut his eyes. There was a loud rushing sound in his ears and a bright yellow light illuminated the veins in his eyelids as he struggled to keep them closed; Harry felt the world fall away beneath his feet and tensed as he waited for his landing. Without warning he felt cold, hard cement smack against his feet, and his knees buckled beneath him. Letting out a stiff groan Harry pried open his eyes, swallowing whatever had crawled up his throat. He felt a pair of small, cool hands heave him up by his shoulders, and his vision cleared to reveal Tonks' amused grin. "Wotcher, Harry."

Taking him by the arm she led him along a darkened road which Harry quickly identified as Grimmauld Place.

…Grimmauld Place… _really_? They were really going to take him to _Grimmauld Place_?

Harry felt something cold curl in the pit of his stomach. This was just about the last place he wanted to be. _Though_, he reminded himself, _school is only three days away… I can hold out till then._

He watched as Tonks led him up the steps into the shabby looking house, the iron rail that bordered the stairs looking neglected with its rust and peeling paint. She rapped three times on the large black door and stood back as it swung open with a muffled groan, and Harry found himself being ushered quickly inside. As his feet found the floor, Harry almost expected to be swept up in one of Mrs. Weasley's unforgiving embraces- however, this was not the case, as Harry found himself standing alone in the corridor, the door swinging shut behind him with a solid clang that echoed out into the heavy silence. Tonks had disappeared from beside him and was nowhere to be seen. Harry felt himself frown. So… what was he supposed to do now?

Standing awkwardly in the dim, narrow, candlelit cloak room, he supposed he must be waiting for somebody, as the Order wouldn't really just abandon him with out a word (would they?). He let his gaze trace the trail of portraits that led up the grandiose, cramped staircase, his eyes peering determinedly upwards into the blackness that swallowed the first-floor landing. Harry repressed a shudder, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Sniffing the air the boy gave a choking, hacking cough- the room was thick with dust, and he lifted a hand to wipe away the residue that clung to his tear ducts, the back of his throat beginning to taste like stale, moulting hippogriff.

"You all right there, Harry?" Tonks popped her head out of a door to his left, light flooding the little room. Harry blinked owlishly, the colour biting at his eyeballs. Not waiting for a reply, the little Auror pulled him into the dining room where several of the cloaked men were having a hushed conversation at the end of the table. Kingsley gave Tonks a pointed look, letting his eyes swing from her to Harry in a way that the boy felt insulting to his intelligence. Apparently they'd wanted a private conversation- and _he_ wasn't invited. Harry could understand the need for secrecy, really he could, but he was _not _a child- and the Order was starting to grate heavily on his already frazzled nerves.

Sensing the rising heat that boiled beneath the boy's skin, Tonks cracked a wide (and slightly hysterical-looking) grin. "Want anything to drink Haz?" she said, ushering him towards the kitchen door (Harry was beginning to feel like a piece of luggage). "Tea? …Coffee?" she asked, the door to the dining room slamming shut behind them, "because you really don't strike me as the coffee type- hot chocolate then? God knows we've got plenty- I had make sure were all stocked up for when Remus goes all PWS and needs his chocolate fix-"

"PWS?" Harry furrowed his brows, and Tonks gave a laugh.

"Pre Werewolf Syndrome."

"Ah." He said, lips curving in amusement, and the Auror nodded enthusiastically.

"He gets through the stuff like nothing else. Seriously," she intoned in a deadpan, "now where was I? Oh yeah- what'dya want then, some hot squash? Milk?"

Harry's smile dropped.

"I think I'll just get myself a glass of water." He forced the words out, his jaw tightening as his body fought the rising urge to vomit.

The metamorphmagus pouted. "Just water?" she parroted, "Bor-_ing_! Do you have any idea how long it's been seen we've had a guest round here? I was all set to entertain but _nooo_," Tonks rolled her eyes and hitched her voice an octave higher, "you have to go and spoil my fun." She sighed heavily before spitting out the words, "Water. Sheesh." like it was some kind of disease. Harry shuffled uncomfortably, not entirely sure if she was joking.

There was a quiet pause, and- sensing that Harry was not the type to be budged- Tonks reached for a glass defeatedly. "Very well," she raised her hand to her forehead in a dramatic flourish, "as the chosen one commands. Water it is."

Harry observed as the little (though still, inevitably taller than _him_) woman tinkered with the sink before handing him a slightly chipped glass that was brimming with tap water. He accepted the cup eagerly and downed the whole thing in five greedy gulps. Setting the glass on the counter with a small _chink_- he wiped away the wetness from his face, suddenly becoming very self conscious. The drink had been especially refreshing, he didn't get them often at the Dursleys and only managed to scrounge one when his Aunt wasn't around; she didn't like his filthy hands on her glassware (or her dishes, or crockery, or even Tupperware- for that matter- and Harry's mind reluctantly fled back to the summer when he'd eaten everything out of a soup tin). Harry realised now that he had probably looked very rude and rather disgusting, chugging down the contents of his glass like a dying man. Worse still, at that moment, Harry remembered what he was wearing. He peered down with a grimace at the large, sleep-wrinkled shirt which clung to him like a sweaty second skin. Now illuminated by the harsh kitchen-light- Harry groaned, he probably looked a state. Almost certainly smelt like one too.

As if sensing his discomfort, Tonks shrugged and said, "We've moved your luggage upstairs if you want to go and change." She opened her mouth and licked her lips dryly before adding, in an apologetic voice. "You'll be staying in Sirius's old room."

Silence.

"Oh…" Harry replied, cheeks tightening with the weight of that revelation. "_Oh_… okay."

_No. No. It's not okay. It's fucking _not_ okay, damnit-_

Harry's reply sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

_Come on Harry_, a voice chimed in his head, _s'just a room, don't be a weakling_.

He lifted his head up to meet the eyes of the Auror who immediately shirked his gaze with a guilty expression on her face. "You sure, Harry? Cause, I mean- if it really bothers you then we could always-"

"No." His voice was tight and strained and his eyes bugged with the pressure of it. "No, it's fine."

Tonks let a hesitant smile warm her features. "Well, alright then, I'll let you go and get settled. You know where to go, right?" Harry nodded tersely. "Good, well, if you need anything…" she let the statement hang in the air, and Harry shrugged.

"I'll call."

Tonks' smile finally reached her eyes. "Cool." She said, letting him walk towards the pantry door which would lead through the large, open-plan cupboard and back out into the stairwell.

"Oh- wait a sec- I forgot to ask." Harry swivelled around, tripping on his words in haste to catch the Auror before she went back into the dining room. She turned to him expectantly. "Where are the Weasleys? I mean… they were here last year- and I know you'd tell me if something'd happened to them-" _at least I hope you would_ "- it's just, I haven't heard at all from Ron or Hermione or…"

Tonks' smile softened. "Arthur got given a job to do which took him near Romania. The family thought it'd be a good idea to take the opportunity to visit _Charlie…_" (Harry pretended not to notice the way the metamorphmagus stumbled reverently over the name of the eldest Weasley son, and waited patiently for her to finish the rest of her explanation) "… I suppose it was especially convenient timing, what with all the trouble going on in this country right now. I don't blame them for wanting to get away for a while, they are targets after all-" Harry tried not to wince "- s'why they took the Granger girl with them. 'Reckon Ronald's gunna put the moves on her." She added slyly to the end. Harry didn't notice though, preoccupied with the throbbing, stabbing sensation that had suddenly gripped his chest. His friends were gallivanting around Europe _together_- _without him_- and they hadn't even bothered to _tell him?_ His shoulders shook slightly. _So they just left him home to rot, without a second thought?_ The glass he'd abandoned on the counter was trembling furiously now. _No visit. No contact. No letter. No_ _nothing_-

Harry was wrenched from his reverie by a shrill crack that rang through the air as the abandoned tumbler exploded outward. Fiery slivers of glass rained down violently on the pair and both of them shut their eyes tightly.

"Shit Haz!" Tonks yelped, ducking underneath her arm. "_Scourgify_!"

The shards of glass dissolved into nothingness, and Harry felt something warm and wet slide down his cheek.

"Oh! You're bleeding." She said, concern creeping into the edges of her voice.

"It's nothing, it's-"

Harry's embarrassment increased tenfold as Kingsley burst through the kitchen door- wand ready and poised to fight. "What happened?" The man said, his voice deep, eyes scanning the area like a hawk. "I heard a noise."

"It's nothing." Tonks echoed Harry's earlier defensive reply. "We just had-" she picked her words carefully "-an _accident_. That's all, nothing to worry about."

The large man gave a soft, rumbling '_hrn_', and Harry felt himself wanting to shrink under his condescending gaze- except the man wasn't actually _looking_ at him- in fact, he barely seemed to acknowledge Harry's presence at all. Flicking his wand in the direction the pantry door, Kingsley turned to face Tonks. "Perhaps it would be best if the boy were to retire for the night."

Harry's eyes narrowed as the man gestured from him to the exit without sparing him so much as a glance. He felt the anger which had been startled out of him by the explosion flood back in full force, the word 'boy' ringing red in his ears.

'_Perhaps' it would be 'best' if I shoved that wand right up your-_

"Harry was just about to go, weren't you Harry?" Tonks said with apologetic eyes.

"_Sure_." He all but snarled, stalking through the doorway to the pantry with a low growl. Dodging the condiment-lined walls he exited through the other side to come out into the stairwell. He wiped the blood off his face with a furious flick of his palm, wincing as his fingers rubbed at the aggravated skin. His palm came back red; the wound was deeper than he thought.

Shame washed over Harry in a stifling blanket of heat. Accidental magic was something _children_ did- and _anyone_, with even _any_ _remote_ semblance of control over their magic would be able to prevent it. To lose control as a student going into their _sixth year_ of Hogwarts was kind of mortifying.

But then…

Harry didn't know if he could really judge himself by the same standards as other wizards. So far, he'd proven himself to be an anomaly in pretty my every way possible, so it stood to reason that for him… the normal rules might not always apply…

Groaning softly, Harry made his way up the cramped staircase, being careful not to disturb the volatile portraits on the wall; he could see why Sirius had hated this place, the whole atmosphere was heavy and oppressive. Thick red velvet drapes hung above the sleeping portraits, punctuated by yellow tassels that brushed the edge of the skirting board deftly. Harry walked quickly for the most part, yet his journey seemed to extend forever, and Sirius' room was _at least_ three floors up. Harry found his pace slowing as his feet finally hit the fourth floor landing. The earthy smell of hippogriff was stronger up here; _perhaps_, Harry thought, _they still keep Buckbeak in the attic_. The boy walked silently across the landing, candles lighting the dark trail of footprints that his feet left in the dust, and as he approached the door Harry felt his heart reel with dread- his limbs feeling like heavy metal- as though they'd sink through the floor at any given moment. Slowly, he ghosted a hand over the brassy handle of the door; it had once been gold, a long time ago, but since then the precious, neglected leaf had worn away in places to leave a red handprint on the doorknob. Harry flexed his fingers- wound them round the handle- and twisted.

The door gave way with little more than a small crack and a groan, leaving Harry free to step silently into the room. The room was dark, with candlelight licking at the walls and furniture all a dark shade of blackened mahogany; it was still, too- as if nothing had been displaced since Sirius had left. Harry turned to the bed, tiredness biting at his vision- but was disturbed at what he found there.

On the bed, Kreacher was tugging at Harry's luggage, scrambling with the lock.

"What are you doing?" Harry blurted, and two lamp-like eyes fixed him in their vision.

"Nasty. Nasty nasty _nasty_ mudblood stealing our house from our mistress, yes." The voice was high and grating- and Harry fought the urge to pull his hands up around his a few steps forward, Harry reached for his trunk with a lunge towards the bed. Kreacher froze mid-scowl.

"_Ohohoh_-" the little elf's voice came out in a gasping, breathy whine. "_Oh- oh-ohohohohohoh_…"

Harry wrapped a cautious hand around the handle of his trunk. "What?" He bit out, but the creature didn't stop.

"_Ohohohoh-ohoh-ohohoh…_"

"What is it?" Harry frowned, the elf not listening. His anger was returning now, the events of the evening having worn his temper right into the ground. Kreacher was an easy target, really. "Look I'm not even _touching_ you-"

"_Oh- oh- OHOHOH- oh_!"

"_STOP IT!!_" Harry yelled, the drapes of the bed shuddering under his grip.

The house elf quivered. "Don't hurt us Devil Eyes! Don't hurt us _please_!" His voice was a breathless wheeze as he rocked slightly on the balls of his feet, "Devil eyes… _devil eyes_…" he skittered, disappearing with a pop.

Harry blinked- rage dissipating slightly, before heaving himself up on to the bed. Sleep beckoned to him enticingly, but Harry didn't want to go to bed in these stale, sweat-soaked clothes. Trotting over to one of the drawers, he peeled off Dudley's school shirt, letting his sticky back cool as flesh met open air. Rolling the muscles in his shoulders back, he opened the top draw.

Nothing. The draw was empty, so Harry tried the next one. Nothing. _Bugger_. Checking all the draws in turn, Harry quickly found that the only clothes stocked in the room were a couple of child's wizarding robes, (the man hadn't been kidding then, when he said the Black's had tried to remove all traces of him when they burnt him off the tree). Swivelling around, Harry scouted the area for something to wear. It wasn't like the man had run about naked or anything. Slowly Harry's eyes settled on a dark pile next to the rumpled bed that hardly stood out against the darkened grain of the floor. They were clothes… clothes for sleeping, dumped carelessly on the floor and Harry almost smiled, wanting to kick himself for thinking that Sirius could ever be tidy enough to put things in a chest of drawers.

_I suppose he didn't want to get too settled_, Harry thought, eyeing another pile of clothes that were draped across a chair, _after all, he'd always been so set on leaving…_

"Don't think about it." Harry stopped himself. No good came of reliving the promises they'd made to each other over the last three years. "Don't even go there."

Slowly the boy pulled off his jeans and his rugged underwear, letting them fall in their own little heap on the floor, and he reached out for the pair of navy bottoms that Sirius had left there- forgoing a shirt in the stifling summer heat. Harry was about to crawl into the bed when a piece of crumpled white caught his gaze. Out of his pocket had fallen his OWL results letter (which read as follows):

* * *

_Mr. Potter_  
_Enclosed are your O.W.L results, the calculation system for your final score is as follows._

**O **Outstanding **3** O.W.L  
**EE **Exceeds Expectations **2** O.W.L  
**A **Acceptable **1** O.W.L  
**P **Poor **0** O.W.L  
**D **Dreadful **0 **O.W.L

_You have achieved the following:_  
**Potions:** ( _Practical: _O_ Theory:_ EE)** Overall: O  
Transfiguration:** ( _Practical: _O_ Theory:_ EE)** Overall: O  
Charms:** ( _Practical: _O_ Theory:_ O)** Overall: O  
Defence Against the Dark Arts:** ( _Practical: _O+_ Theory:_ O)** Overall: O+ (4 O.)  
Astronomy:** ( _Practical: _P_ Theory:_ A)** Overall: A  
Herbology: **( _Practical: _EE_ Theory:_ EE)** Overall: EE  
Divination:** ( _Practical: _D_ Theory:_ P)** Overall: P  
History of Magic:** (_exam to be rescheduled_)**  
Care of Magical Creatures:** ( _Practical: _O_ Theory:_ O)** Overall: O**

**Overall O.W.L Score: 19**

_Dear Mr. Potter,_  
_I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate you on your exceptional O.W.L results. You qualify for the following subjects:_

_N.E.W.T Potions_  
_N.E.W.T Transfiguration_  
_N.E.W.T Charms_  
_N.E.W.T Defence Against the Dark Arts_  
_N.E.W.T Herbology_  
_N.E.W.T Astronomy_  
_N.E.W.T Care of Magical Creatures_

_Please fill out and return the form below as to your preferred choice of subjects at N.E.W.T level. You should receive a letter containing a list of the necessary books and equipment in shortly after. _  
_Also note that your History of Magic exam has been rescheduled for the 14th of June in the coming year._  
_Enjoy the remainder of the holidays. _

_Sincerely,_  
_Professor McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_  
_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

The irony of the situation was- that despite having sent him this letter, the choices as to the subjects he was taking in his sixth year had already been made by the headmaster. Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to choose exactly what he'd be studying without giving Harry any input onto the matter whatsoever. Furthermore, Harry hadn't even been _told_ what he'd be doing- let alone been allowed to actually go out and buy his course materials. No, the Order- it seemed- had taken care of everything.

(But who was taking care of _Harry_?)

Harry resolved that he would ask Remus tomorrow if he knew what Dumbledore had decided for him, and let himself sidle away from thoughts of yet another uncomfortable topic.

Heaving himself up onto the elevated four-poster-bed, the springs of the mattress groaned in protest; wasting no time (as he was sure he could already see a hint of citrine permeating the crimson velvet of the window curtains), Harry slid himself between the cool, rumpled sheets letting his head drop down onto the pillow.

_Ouch. _

Harry blinked. Instead of sleep-tempting softness, Harry's head had collided with something cold and hard tucked inside the pillowcase. Reaching an exhausted hand up to the slit in the cover, he fumbled to get his fingers inside it; slowly his fingertips brushed the smooth surface of something seamless, gilded and metal- and carefully he managed to extract it from the cloth it was wound in.

In the darkness it was had to make out what it was, but one flick of his hands caused the whole object to catch the light and-

Harry dropped it as if scolded.

The mirror.

The mirror.

_Sirius's_ mirror.

There was a pause, and slowly- as if approaching a coiled viper- Harry let his fingers wind around the handle.

_The mirror_.

It was beautiful, an identical replica of the one that Sirius had given to Harry all those fateful months ago. _Only_… Harry remembered then that their mirrors differed in one important way. The one that lay heavy in his palms was untarnished, but… the one wrapped up in a parcel in Harry's trunk was broken, irrevocably- a product of his hate and rage at fate (and probably himself) that had left him taking it out on Sirius's last gift to Harry. He had broken his mirror. Smashed it. _Ruined_ it. He had shown Sirius's gift so little respect and care that it left Harry feeling empty and sick and ashamed as he gazed upon the mirror that his godfather had lovingly kept under his pillow.

Had Harry meant _that much_ to him?

Inside him a battle was being fought between the creeping self hatred and the warm feeling that enveloped him at the notion that Sirius had _cared_ about him, like a parent. Like a dad.

Gripping the handle of the mirror tightly, Harry laid back down on the bed- the pillow sinking around his ears and the faint, spicy scent of Sirius making his nose tickle and his eyes sting. Carefully he pulled the crisp sheets up to his chin, burying his face in the fabric and breathing deeply.

Harry gave a long, shuddering sigh, and then succumbed to the blackness.

* * *

Poor Eddy Hadward.

Ahh, one can not be a shounen hero without the mandatory daddy issues. God knows Ed has enough for both of them- but Harry certainly has his fair share too. (Which is what I wanted to highlight in this chapter). While this will end up being pretty FMA-centric, I don't want to ignore the HP characters and plotlines, because really- they deserve better- and that's why I'm taking my time and making the pacing is so slow. The action/plot picks up good and proper next chapter (or two, depending on where I put the interval), so yay for not having to wait too much longer for things to develop.  
I swear, I don't know where this chapter came from. It just sort of, materialised. This one was originally going to be the rewrite of the old Body Snatcher chapter 'of teenagers, trains and transfer students', but as you can see- a lot has changed since then. In fact, readers of the old fic may notice several strange and unexplainable changes to the storyline in chapters to come. All I can say is, it will all become clear eventually.  
I'm by no means a perfect writer, and this story has no beta reader, so if you find any spelling or grievous grammatical errors can you point them out in your review and I'll fix them ASAP. Same goes for inconsistencies and character-issues (it's been a long time since I read Harry Potter :P). Thanks.

Ellersway (EKK)

P.S whenever I write Kreacher, he always wants to speak like Gollum. Yes. Precious.


	5. IV

Body Snatcher

_Ellersway _

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist. :(

This story is AU after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and episode 51 of Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

_IV_

**Harry has a Vision**

Overnight, it had rained.

Harry stared out of his bedroom window solemnly, nose pressed up against the pane, casting a cool dark shadow over the glass. Water droplets ran in clear rivulets that split and intertwined in a sluggish race to the sill. Rain. Harry liked the rain. There hadn't been enough of it this summer. Breathing outward, a coat of warm mist condensed on the window, concealing the street outside. Slowly then, Harry peeled his flesh off the glass; adjusting himself amongst the plush red cushions of the bay window before turning back to the book that lay open on his lap.

He reached instinctively to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose (though they hadn't been there for a month now), and palmed the soft navy fabric of the book's cover lightly. Sighing, he flicked it back open and began to read.

_Conquering Shamballa: A Qualitative Essay__  
Prof. Grötman, Olivia S.R._

_The existence of the völkisch Studiengruppe für germanisches Altertum (otherwise known  
__as the Thule-Gesellschaft or 'Thule Society') is one that has been largely dismissed by  
historians and scholars as entirely irrelevant to European history, contributing neither to  
the outcome of WWI nor to the rise of Nazism in Germany; some have gone as far as to  
question its existence altogether, labelling the society as mythical in nature. Perhaps this  
__observation is not entirely inaccurate; as while it is certain that such a group did indeed  
exist, some of its achievements and endeavours continue to defy explanation- particularly  
in its connection to the Order of the Teutons, and the records of its supposed successes in  
contacting Hyperborea. In this essay I hope to provide evidence that will illuminate the  
truth surrounding the Shamballa conspiracy, offering a-_

Harry felt his head smack against the wooden window-frame. He was tired- too tired to concentrate, really. The text was dense and small, and the topic equally as dry. These things didn't really bother him though- not _really_. In fact, he wouldn't usually bat an eyelid at tiddly font or dull material- (he wasn't exactly sure when he'd started to emulate Hermione, though he suspected that the utter boredom of the summer might have had something to do with it) it was just that he hadn't got much sleep the night before. Harry had spent the night tossing and turning- (that much was evident by the matted state of his black mane of hair- which was swept back out of his face in a mad tangle that made him look like a wild man) and he was quite sure that he must have had a nightmare, though he couldn't recall it. Upon waking, Harry's heart had been pounding, and he had sat there for a while- arms tensed and eyes wide as he listened to his heart thrum out into the silent room.

This was not the first time that Harry had tried to read Professor Grötman's… _invigorating _study. Harry had been trying to get into it for the last two hours, but found his mind floundering and drifting away within three paragraphs. His attention span, it seemed, was shortening by the minute now- though this was largely due to the fact that he had promised himself that he would go to the Black's library today. That morning Harry had decided that he would spend the day scouring the newly de-Boggarted library for any reference to Alchemy that he could find. Unfortunately, having got himself all enthusiastic at the prospect of finally being able to make sense of these dreams, he got to the room only to find that it had been locked up. The temptation to cast a little _Alohomora_ had been there- oh yes, it had. But there was no certainty that that would even work- not if the door had been sealed magically. Not only that, but Harry didn't really fancy getting expelled from Hogwarts a second time round. The once had been bad enough.

Not even bothering to hide his disappointment (though there was no one around to hide it from anyway), Harry had stormed off to the third floor drawing room to sulk into the pages of the one book he had left to read. Conquering Shamballa. Harry'd been sure that it would make at least a mildly interesting read; it had been an instinctual purchase- and he hadn't been disappointed by the _other_ books he'd bought on a whim at the second hand store. However, his enthusiasm had quickly vanished when he realised that the text had nothing to do with philosophy or science- it wasn't even historically accurate. No. Harry had just so happened to pick up what appeared to be a book on… _magic Nazis_, full of the type of conspiracy tripe that muggles seemed to thrive on. Reading it as a wizard made the whole thing seem even more ridiculous than it would to any other normal reader, honestly- the muggle approximation of occultism and magic was so laughable it was almost scary (and indeed, some of the passages didn't fail to send a chill down his spine).

However, Harry was not one to let a scrap of paper beat him, and he'd be damned if he didn't finish reading the thing by the end of the day- and so, grudgingly, he turned back to the little book, skimming its contents with one tired, lazy eye.

…_Conspiracy suggests that Dietlinde Eckhart served as an alias for one Dietrich  
Eckhart, female founder of _blah blah _controversial _blah_… single minded dedication  
to the division and conquering of the 'most distant' and quite mythical province of  
Θούλη, otherwise known as Ultima Thule, Hyperborea, or more commonly still:  
Shamballa… _

…_the proposition that the existence of the Thule Society extended long after its  
supposed 'dissolution' in 1925 is _blah blah_ not entirely unfounded. Conspirators  
would have us believe… and argue that occultism did not end with the Deutsche  
Arbeiterpartei… particularly during the Holocaust… anomalies in records of… and  
the fluctuating numbers of death camp inmates suggest… disappearances  
unaccounted for… supposed death of Walter Nauhaus _blah blah blah_. Furthermore,  
records of Eckhart's relocation to the Polish border coincide with the uncharacteristic  
deportment of undesirables to the same area from Northern-located death camps,  
where all records of such individuals… and _blah blah_… evidence here is _blah blah _  
tentative and _blah blah_ criticised as circumstantial, however… rumours of_ blah-dee  
blah blah _… In light of the Thule Society's obsession with the origin and creation of  
the Aryan race, it should come as no surprise that records suggest the involvement  
of three of it's founding members in human experimentation… Mauthausen and _  
blah blah_ genetics… favouring mysticism over science…_ blah blah _Blavatsky… unlike  
the more widely infamous examples _blah blah_ contribution of the Holocaust to  
medical science… Dr. Eduard Wirths… Auschwitz… _

Harry couldn't possibly pinpoint the moment that the words began to blur; his head lolling against his chest, and his hand becoming a limp and boneless fish, drifting downstream to rest against the smooth skin of his stomach. Eventually the tension in his body loosened and that one, languid eye drooped closed. The book slid to the floor when sleep took him. But Harry didn't notice, and Harry didn't care.

* * *

'…_Gran? Is that you?'_

_There is a shuffling noise, and a boy appears. He is wearing blue chequered pyjamas that swing tightly against his ankles._

'_Gran?' His voice wobbles. _Pathetic.

_The room is dark, but out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees the little hand of the grandfather clock creep slowly around its ghostly white face. He cannot be sure, but it looks like it lands on the words 'mortal peril'. _

_The vision changes._

_There is a low, sibilant rushing sound and a shadow inches across the landing. The smooth twist of blackness shivers, growing until it casts a slice of grey over the shuddering frame of Neville Longbottom. Yes. Harry recognises the shaking boy now. Neville Longbottom. _

_Harry tries to reach out to him, but he has no limbs with which to do so, all he can do is watch as the shadow advances- _

_Except, it's not a shadow any more. What was once a hazy coil of slithering darkness is now, quite plainly, a snake. Wide and long with a great grinning mouth lined with one hundred pin-like incisors. Nagini has grown._

Run Neville_. He tries to scream. God, why wasn't he running? _

_There is no artful spray of blood; only an awful mangled crunch, followed by a squeal, then silence. The vision isn't clear, it's quick and messy and violent, and when the creature is done there is nothing left but a few flecks of red against the floral magnolia wallpaper. Harry blanches._

What did I just see?

_Harry looks around the room, at the bloodless creamy carpet, the spotless space where Neville had been standing, at the serpent's red-stained mouth-_

_And suddenly the answer is very obvious._

* * *

"Harry- _Harry!_"

When he woke, Harry realised three things; his face was wet, his throat was dry, and he was already screaming. Somebody had gripped him by the shoulders too, and was shaking him violently, as if trying to dislodge a demon from his body by force. This crude exorcism was not ineffective however, and Harry found himself hurtling head first in to consciousness-

"Snap out of it Harry, come on."

He blinked, wincing as something warm seeped through the cracks in his eyelids- his vision bloodied and bleary.

"Remus?" He croaked.

"It's okay now, Harry, it's okay-"

But then Harry remembered that it wasn't really okay, because he'd just had a vision in which-

Oh _shit._

"Neville!" The word leapt from his throat. "Neville- I saw- I saw-"

"Harry it's okay, it was just a dream."

Harry blinked away the blood dubiously.

"-No! No- you don't _understand!_ It was a vision- Voldemort- the snake- there was the snake-"

"A vision, Harry?" there was something ugly and unidentifiable in the sound of the werewolf's voice- a swallowed, incredulous inflection- with a slightly bitter twist. Harry knew what he was thinking.

"_Please- please_- it's _Neville_. And I know- I _know_ what this sounds like but please- _please just check_-"

The floorboards shrieked, and Harry heard footsteps as several people ran into the room. Remus' face was as blank as stone.

Suddenly there was a flurry of voices, and Harry found himself the subject of an intense interrogation. Kingsley's wide face obscured the werewolf from his view, his thick brows twisted into a frown and Harry felt a small hand squeeze his shoulder softly.

"What happened?" The man's voice was thick and low. Harry gripped a hand to his forehead to stem the bleeding. His mind was drifting and he felt his mouth open and his dream drift passed his cracked lips. Periodically the delicate hand on his shoulder would reach to the back of his neck, smoothing his hair. Harry felt tired. Sleepy.

When he finally broke from his reverie, Kingsley was murmuring something to Mad-Eye and Remus had already left the room. A towel was holding its self to his weeping forehead and Tonks' wand was dancing in front of his face. "Wotcher, Harry." the woman offered him a resigned smile. Harry shifted in his seat. Where was Lupin?

The metamorphmagus followed his searching gaze, and gave him a small pat on his shoulder. "Just… give him some time." Tonks' voice was soft against his ear. "This isn't easy for him either, y'know… He took Sirius' death very hard- I mean, we _all _did- but Remus… well… they were close. It's hard to explain, really… they were just- yeah, close." The girl sighed before looking into his eyes determinedly. "So, don't think he doesn't care about you- because he does. I know he does." She gave a smile, "You're very important to him."

Harry lifted his eyebrows in a crooked approximation of a smile. "… Okay." He wasn't quite sure what else to say.

"You should probably steer clear of the downstairs. Moody's on a bit of a rampage- something about Dumbledore and an assassination attempt, not to mention the team that's getting ready to go to Augusta's."

"You mean, they're actually going to check on Neville?"

"Sure." She said, waving a hand. "It's not like they're gunna ignore it or anything. I mean just 'cause old Moldyshorts managed to trick you once, doesn't mean that every vision's gunna be a fluke- look at Arthur. Your vision saved his life back then and- hey! Was it the same snake in your vision today?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"Huh… well, better safe than sorry, n' all." Tonks gave him another firm pat on the back before turning towards the door. "I'm off then, see ya round Haz."

Harry watched her retreating back, eyes fixed forward as he suddenly found himself alone again. He frowned, only to find his forehead tight with a film of dried blood. Rubbing it roughly, he dislodged a handful of the red-brown flakes, coating his palm in a fine layer of rust-like residue. Urgh. He needed a wash.

Walking out the large study door, Harry meandered down the landing to the third floor bathroom. He pushed open the door forcefully and swiped a layer of dust off the heavily gilded mirror that hung above the mucky porcelain sink. For a moment he closed his eyes, listening to the steady tap of rain on the warped glass of the bathroom window. Harry liked the ra-

Shit. Shit. ShittingFucking_Ow_.

Harry let out a long hiss and buried a fist against his right shoulder, his left leg buckling as his joints began to cramp up, a vicious burn seizing his limbs. Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

The knotted muscles in his shoulder rolled as he threw himself over the toilet, his stomach heaving unapologetically into the basin. Was this his body reacting to the dream? His chest tensed spasmodically and he felt his eyes bulge under the force of it- blood rushing behind his ears.

It was over very quickly, though, and Harry collapsed back a little, arms shaking as his muscles began to relax again. Pulling himself up off the cool, cracked tile floor he battled with the tap before it juttered noisily into life, sending a clear spray of cold water into the porcelain bowl. Harry lifted a hand full of water up to his raw, crusty forehead- scrubbing off the little flakes of congealing blood with two rough, calloused palms; wiping the remains of his regurgitated breakfast from around his chin. Harry grimaced at his reflection in the mirror, tracing the bags under his eyes with a wet thumb, finger stopping short at the red freckles that dotted his skin where his veins had popped in protest.

Harry sighed, and let out a long fluid stream of expletives.

"Well, I'm glad to see you too." An amused voice came from behind him- startling the boy and he wiped his hands hastily on the towel.

"Professor… Lupin? What're you doing here?" Harry wheeled around to face the voice

"I was looking for you Harry, I think..." Harry followed Lupin's eyes from the open door to the rim of the toilet seat, the man pressed his lips together, but thankfully didn't ask. "I think we need to have a chat."

Harry nodded crookedly as the man beckoned him back into the corridor. He tried to subtly flush away the contents of his stomach as he exited the room, but the ancient plumbing groaned dramatically- giving a giant croak that made Harry wince, while Remus ignored it pointedly. Harry felt instantly grateful; that was one of the things he liked about Lupin.

Catching up to the werewolf he trotted beside him obediently. The man cleared his throat and the creases at the edge of his eyes darkened slightly as his smiled awkwardly. "Look- _I_," he let out a long rush of air from between his lips and closed his eyes lightly; Harry's heart flickered in worry. _I_- what? _I'm sorry for earlier?_ _I wish you'd try harder at legimency? _Or maybe- _I don't want to see you any more?_ Or even- _I think we should talk about Siriu_- "I'm taking you out, Harry- I mean, you look like you could use some time off. It is the summer after all." Remus cocked his head to one side then, and in a conspiratorial tone that was a far cry from his earlier sombre mood said- "Tonks told me you needed it." _Ah yes_, Harry thought, _so_ _he's heard about the great book-shop adventure_. "…and, as for the Order, well, you're right, we're really not allowed; or at least, _most _people seem to think it's a bad idea. But there are those of us who remember what it was like to be young," he said with a wistful smile, "keeping you all cooped up with those- _people_… and now _here_, in _this_ god forsaken place- Merlin knows Padfoot hated it- with no contact to the outside world… well, it's cruel- and unnecessary. A couple of us manoeuvred things to get you out of the house- we can't go too far, mind you, but still- it's something. Alastor- well, you can imagine what he had to say about it, but… this whole 'no contact' business- it's really taking things a bit too far. I told- I told them that you could handle yourself for one afternoon- I was… quite persuasive, actually." A smile ghosted over the professor's lips and Harry felt his heart swell;_ Lupin had stuck up for him? He'd really said those things?_ The man's face grew slightly bashful. "It was Tonks' idea, mostly." He added belatedly.

Harry peered down the corridor looking for a flash of pink, but couldn't see one. His brows furrowed, he couldn't believe the Order was actually letting Lupin do this. "But Voldemort-"

"- is not going to raid a muggle coffee shop in the middle of broad daylight when he doesn't even know where you are. Besides," his lips twitched "we've got you covered."

Harry's eyes did another sweep of the landing. Nobody. _Invisibility cloaks, then?_

"Okay," he started, "so- where are we going?"

"Not too far," Remus replied, "just out- a drink and a chat. It should be pretty easy to get out of here now, with all the chaos going on downstairs."

A drink. A chat. It seemed so trivial- so laughably mundane- but Harry seized on it with all the force of a man that was drowning. To him it was like a lifeline; someone throwing him a rope and saying, _hey kid, you're not through yet_. When had his life become so crazy that something as ordinary as going out for a cup of tea become so… so… Harry struggled to find a good word. Man, he'd just got so caught up in things that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be normal, to go out and do _normal-person_ things. He threw an honest smile back at the professor. At least someone was looking out for him. It felt good. (Though a part of him couldn't help but wonder where Lupin's earlier mood had disappeared to.)

There was a pleasant silence then, as the two slipped through the downstairs door as quietly as possible. The pair took off up the road, the dregs of the rain fall hiding the sound of their footsteps, and Harry shivered, wondering if Lupin knew where they were going. As if sensing the young man's curiosity the professor put two hands in his pockets and explained. "It's just a little place up the road, been there a few times off duty. I think you went their last year with Hermione and Ronald."

"Oh- okay." Harry said lamely, sucking the inside of his cheek. He hadn't been there, actually, the Order had never let him out of their sights before. He hadn't even been into a proper town since he was little, and even if he _had_ gone out with Ron and Hermione, he wouldn't have been able to actually _buy_ anything; his Aunt had never given him any muggle money, not even for school dinners as a kid. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets sourly and Remus looked slightly uncomfortable.

"We don't have to go if you don't want- I mean, I just thought-"

"No!" Harry cut the man off, startled at the volume of his own voice- before adding more softly, "No- no, I want to go, I was just, thinking about something else. Sorry."

The thin light hit Lupin's face as he gave a quiet nod of understanding; it was only in that second that Harry realised how utterly tired the man looked. The professor had always seemed a little rough-around-the-edges, this had been clear from the moment Harry had first laid eyes on him- asleep on the Hogwarts Express. But this was different- _worse_, the whites of his eyes were dappled with pink- overcast by shadow where they had sunken back into his skull in a desperate retreat from reality; underneath them he wore the darkened bags of a man who had been sitting awake at night, waiting for the worst case scenario. Lupin had the look of a man teetering on the edge of… _something_. Collapse? Insanity? _Death_…? Harry thought, _maybe_. Some sort of breakdown?- _Likely, and long overdue_. He'd aged. Every line on his face was darker and his skin was pale, with a translucent quality about it- laced with not white- but green; _nausea_. He looked sick- and Harry knew he'd _always_ looked sick- but now, now, _now_ he looked… _sick_. Sick and stretched and worn so far into the ground that Harry was surprised he was still standing at all; and all of this contradicted by a wide- but most importantly _honest_ smile.

Remus Lupin had always been a man of honest smiles. They would start at the mouth and frame the cheeks in wide, open laugh-lines; skin would tauten over the cheekbones and crows feet would flex against the eyelids- an honest smile would always reach the eyes, brightening them in a way that not even the keenest master of deception could fake.

The pair walked in an amicable silence, and Harry listened to the overhead groan of metal as a plane flew low above them and Remus steered him round a corner and into a rather pokey looking building that was well hidden between a hairdressers and a scabby fish and chip shop. A sign stuck out from the wall that proudly proclaimed the word 'NELLIE'S' in flaky red acrylic paint on baby-blue vinyl that was peeling at the edges. If it weren't for the gaudy plaque Harry might not have noticed the building at all, it's cerulean door coloured grey by the foul weather. Remus ushered him inside and the door opened with a tinkle.

Inside 'NELLIE'S' Harry found it to be pleasantly warm, and he sat down at one of the round tables as Remus went up to order whatever it was they were drinking. Harry's gaze floated to the quaint faux chalkboard above the counter where the word's 'Nellie's Special Hot Choc' were scrawled in comic sans. Ah. Harry's lips twitched. No wonder the werewolf liked the place so much.

Rain pattered against the long, flat window, distorting the line of traffic outside; Harry watched as the fleeting amber light filtered through the glass before switching to vibrant green. He shuddered, his hand drawing perfect lazy circles against the chequered linoleum. Hmm.

Harry was broken out of his reverie as Remus dumped a large brown tray in front of him, mugs jumping with a _clink_.

"_So_..."

"So." Remus said, setting himself down in one of the plastic décor chairs. "How have things... been."

"Good." Harry answered quickly, his voice a little strangled. He coughed. "They're good. Thing's are... good- I've been reading a lot, lately," he offered the last statement a little hopefully, and Lupin gave a broad smile.

"Yes, Tonks did tell me about that." _Urgh_, Harry licked his lips, _that bookshop again, back to haunt him_. The werewolf's eyes flickered briefly towards the counter where a harlequin haired woman chatted amiably with the girl at the til. Eyes dancing as he added. "Yes, she tells me you're quite a hit with the young ladies of Little Whinging. James would be proud."

Harry gaped a little, "I'm not..." he trailed off and Remus gave a quiet laugh at the boy's bemused expression. To be honest, Harry'd never really thought about it before- or at least not in a long time- not since Cho. And if he were to be perfectly honest it had not been Cho herself that he had been attracted to. Sure, she was bright- but her personality was nothing special, and their conversation had been a little short of stimulating. Harry's mouth twisted as he realised the only reason he'd liked her at all had been for her looks- dark hair, perfect pale skin and deep, exotic eyes. Hmm. Harry swallowed, eyes darting to his right to avoid his professors amused gaze, unfortunately it seemed the buxom blonde at the counter thought he was looking at her, and wiped her hands on her skinnys before giving a slightly hopeful wave, lips pouting in a way she clearly thought was quite seductive. Harry cringed and let his forehead slide down to stick to the linoleum. He was surely turning red. Across the table he could hear Remus' stifled laughter, and he seized one of the mugs from the tray firmly, lips tight and eyes fixed on the goopy chocolate marshmallow concoction. "Oh shut up." He said stiffly, and Remus let out an unrestrained bark of glee. For a second he sounded a lot like Sirius.

Change the subject Harry. Change the subject.

Remus beat him to it. "So what, you're now in your.. sixth year?" Harry nodded and Lupin's expression lifted a bit, "I remember our last two years of Hogwarts. Best time of our lives; I'm pretty sure there are stories still being told about it," he said with a wistful smile. Harry noted the man's slip- his casual use of 'our', left over from the days when the Marauders were still inseparable. Harry made the sudden and unpleasant realisation then that Mooney was now the only one left. "You given much thought to what subjects you want to take?"

Harry blinked before lifting a hand behind his head. "I'm not sure I get a say." Remus inclined his head apologetically and Harry's eyes widened a little. "... I can't believe it's almost over… I mean- it's all gone so quickly- the last five years," he said, smiling slightly. "Just two years to go and then I'm free, I s'pose." _If I last that long_. "Free for the rest of forever..."

Granted, Harry would probably never be truly free. Not until Tom was gone, at least.

"Still, I'm sure you must have made some sort of plans for what you're going to do when you get out of Hogwarts? Minerva tells me you want to be an Auror-"

Harry frowned into his hot chocolate, running a finger around the rim to catch the cream as it dribbled down the side of the mug. "Actually..." Harry looked up at Remus thoughtfully. "Actually... I'm not sure, any more. I mean- I thought I did, it's just... with everything that's going on, I'm not sure if I want to sign myself up for more fighting. I was thinking... well, I was _hoping_ that if the war was over by the end of school that I might go to the muggle world for a year or two... I mean- I don't know- sometimes... sometimes I feel like maybe... maybe I don't _belong_ here- in the wizarding world. Like maybe there's somewhere else I'm meant to be and I just haven't found it yet, you know? It's hard to explain. It's just a feeling."

In all honesty, Harry had devoted very little time to thinking about the future. He probably didn't have one anyway. Not with Tom on the loose. Remus looked at him quizzically.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to explore other options, Harry. I, for one, am glad you're being so open minded about it, especially when it might seem like you're being driven down a certain path." _You have no idea_, Harry thought. "I think that's a very admirable quality. You seem to be coping with all the pressure quite tremendously."

Harry took a long swig of his drink. "I don't know... sometimes I s'pose I'll end up being an Auror anyway." He said slowly; the Prophecy had pretty much destroyed any choice he had in the matter. "It seems to be where my life is heading- what people want me to do… I mean they expect me to become an Auror and join the Order and- I guess it's probably a good idea too… you know, with the whole Voldemort-" Lupin cringed and the punk at the counter twitched slightly- "thing… I guess it _would_ be a good idea. Learn how to defend myself. My friends and-" _family_ "-yeah, probably a good idea. Maybe I could work for Dumbledore, find a way to help somehow." Harry gave a defeated smile and shrugged, curling a hand around his mug of hot chocolate. Now it was Lupin's turn to shake his head, and he did so vigorously while he swallowed.

"Listen, Harry, don't tell Dumbledore or Alastor- I'm supposed to be encouraging you to 'enlist', so to speak- _but_…don't join. It's awful. Work in the Order… it's a dangerous game left to people who don't have much left to lose." _Did Lupin include himself in that list?_ Harry wondered. "You're so young-" the boy's heckles started to rise, "- you don't want to throw your future away- you have your whole _life_ ahead of you.

_But I don't. Do I?_ Harry wanted to say, _I don't_, and he smiled lightly- the werewolf obviously wasn't aware of the Prophecy.

Harry smiled.

"I guess you're right."

It didn't reach his eyes.

"You know, I'd probably make a crap Auror anyway."

The silence then was daunting. Harry looked back down into the dregs of his hot chocolate, tossing the milky paste around in the bottom of the mug. He chanced a glance at Remus only to see the man's face fixed into a frown. The issue, it seemed, could no longer be ignored.

Even in death, Sirius was still a bloody pain.

"Listen, Harry," he began, carefully setting down his drink. Lupin ran a palm down his face, rubbing at his blood-tinged eyes before looking straight at Harry, who stared back. "I…I wanted to apologize."

Harry blinked. He had been expecting... well, Harry wasn't too sure _what_ he'd been expecting but it certainly wasn't an apology.

"...For what?"

"That _night_," the man choked out the word, and his eyes strained as he diverted his gaze to tear-stained window, "when I- held you back I-"

"Don't. Please- you don't have to apologise. I'm glad you did it." Harry said, and the man swallowed. "There was a lot going on, and I was starting to panic. You helped me clear my head. If you hadn't... I mean, if you hadn't held me back that night, I'd probably be dead." Harry tried to sound as confident as possible. He really wanted Remus to believe him. After all, everything he'd said was true.

"Be that as it may- I want you to know that if it'd have made any difference, I wouldn't have stopped you. If there was any way… to bring him back..." His eyes were downcast now.

"But there isn't." Harry said firmly.

_Except there is_. Something called at him, coiled in his gut. _There is_-

"There's nothing that anyone can do." He said, unknowingly repeating the very same words that Lupin had said to Harry that miserable night.

"Maybe so," Lupin conceded. "I just don't want to lose your friendship or… trust over this Harry- _Sirius _wouldn't want that."

Remus stumbled helplessly over the name, swerving like a drunkard. Indeed the man looked as if he'd just downed a several shots of vodka; eyes red and fists clenched.

"You miss him don't you?" Harry said.

"Don't we all." The man laughed bitterly through clenched teeth. It wasn't a question, just a statement.

"Yeah, but, what about _you_? I mean… it must be-"

"Hard?" The man finished. "Yes. Excruciating? Yes, but you know all about that. Sirius was… irreplaceable. I wasted years- _years_ hating him, Harry. I should've known better. Of all people, I should have known better…" he trailed off, and Harry thought- for a second that he saw something in the man's eyes that he didn't expect to be there. Something deep and burning. "He was my best friend- more than my best friend. Losing him like this- all over again. It's unbearable." The man clenched his fist as it hovered over his heart; his eyes still smouldering and Harry suddenly felt as if he were intruding on something very private.

"How do you…" Harry struggled to find the right words, "…_cope_? How do you deal with it?"

"Most days, I don't." The man's eyes tightened. "But on the others? I just… try and imagine what Sirius would want me to do… and I know that _this_- this moping and feeling sorry for myself- it's not how he'd want me to behave." Remus touched his lips with a hand, eyes glazed and far-reaching. "He'd probably tell me to get my act together- that I needed to be there for you. He'd tell me to stop crying over a spilt potion and just keep moving forward- and try not to look back." _You have perfect legs to walk with_. "It's the same way I dealt with the death of your parents, Harry, and Peter too… we lost a lot of people back then… and I suppose it's just as good a way of coping as- Harry, are you all right?"

"Huh?" Harry's mind floundered, and then he noticed his hands. His left hand was firmly locked around the metal spoon, holding it upside down and grinding it into the table in a perfect circle. His knuckles were white. The table cloth had already begun to tear. Shit, how hadn't he noticed he was doing this? "Oh. " He said lightly, turning to drop the spoon back into his mug. "No, yeah, I'm fine; it's just a habit- sorry."

"No, no, nothing to worry about Harry." Remus seemed to accept this explanation quite happily. "You just looked a bit..." the man trailed off and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Like you were in another world, or something."

"Mmm... sorry. " Harry rubbed his arms and let his eyes drop. "I didn't really get that much sleep last night."

The werewolf smiled sympathetically and took one last swig of his hot chocolate, setting the mug down on the table with a definite thud. "We better get going, actually. I wouldn't have thought the group at Augusta's will be too long getting back."

The pair walked back in the drizzle in relative silence, the rain was tapering off and the sun had just begun to filter through the thinning cloud below it. Harry felt it's comforting weight sit heavily on his damp shoulders, he gave a lazy grin, and as they turned onto the steps of Grimmauld Place, Remus stopped, muttering a hushed spell that let the door crack open a fraction. Inside there were muffled voices, but nobody was in the entrance way.

Just as Remus and Harry finished stepping through the frame, Tonks came flying through the dining room door. "Oh good, you're back." She said breathlessly, and Harry wondered how she'd managed to return before them. "Good news. Dung's team just got back from Augusta's and it looks like Neville's fine, Moody's put a coupla guards on watch down at their house- just in case, but we think the vision might have been a decoy and Kingsley's floo'd down to the ministry to see if there've been any sightings."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Remus put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Tonks." he said, turning to the metamorphmagus.

The witch beamed. "No problemo." and danced off back into the noisy kitchen area.

"Harry." Remus said, not turning back to face the boy. There was a note of concern in his voice. "Harry, you know that... if there's ever anything wrong- something that's bothering you- anything at all, you can come to me all right? You know that?"

"...Sure." Harry's eyes were wide, and his voice a bit weary, what was this about?

"- Good." the man said finally. "I just wanted to make sure... Ah, here we go- look Harry, before we part ways- I'm starting a mission soon so I may not... see you for a fair bit- so this will probably be goodbye for a little while-"

"- Is it with the werewolves? Is Dumbledore sending you away to negotiate with the-"

"- I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm not at liberty to speak with you about this. You're a smart boy, I'm sure you can make some very astute guesses, but as I'm sure you understand, it's probably best if you don't speak to anyone about the nature of my work in the Order..."

"I understand." Harry gave a displeased but firm nod, and Remus turned to exit into the kitchen. "Wait- Professor Lupin-" Harry held out a hand, and suddenly felt rather foolish. "I mean... well, thanks. For today. It was great. Thank you."

The dishevelled man smiled genially. "It was my pleasure, Harry, really- but, do call me Remus."

"Sure." Harry grinned. "Goodbye... Remus."

"Goodbye, Harry." The werewolf's soft tenor echoed down the corridor before dissipating in a burst chilled summer wind that sprung from the draughty open door. Harry shut it tightly.

Again, there was silence.

As Harry made his way back up the gothic staircase he felt a sudden sense of loss- as if someone had taken a blunt spoon and scooped out his insides. It was a feeling of regret. Regret for what, though?

The thought hit Harry with all the force of a sledgehammer and he kicked the stair in frustration. The dreams. He hadn't told Remus about the dreams.

_But that's okay_. A nameless voice whispered in his ear. _Don't want him to think you're crazy or anything, now, do you Potter?_

_It probably doesn't matter anyway_, he told himself, _after all… they're just silly nightmares_. He didn't want to worry the poor man… and Remus had already proven that his loyalty was to the Order before Harry, anyway- so what was there to stop him from spilling all of Harry's innermost thoughts to Dumbledore- the Weasleys… or worse, Snape. Harry didn't want another reason to be stared at or pitied_. Yeah. _He bit down on his cheek firmly. _It was probably a good thing that he hadn't told Remus about the dreams. _

_Best not tell anyone, huh?_ The voice added eagerly.

Harry pinched his lips together and squinted into the darkness of the third floor landing. Yeah… _Yeah_.

At least he'd sleep easier knowing Neville was okay.

* * *

I get the urge to put smilies at the end of Tonks' dialogue :)  
manga fans / those of you who watch brotherhood may get the rain = vomit thing, I feel sorry for Ed, he really can't catch a break huh?  
Sorry this one's so late, the first half was written about a month ago, and the rest done in the early hours of this morning as I lie in bed with my laptop, unable to sleep because of Alevel results tomorrow. Eeeep. Good for the progression of Body Snatcher. Not so good for my nerves.  
As ever, review and tell me what you think :) if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out and I'll correct them ASAP.

P.S next chapter is when the action kicks off guys ;)


	6. V

Body Snatcher

_Ellersway _

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist. :(

This story is AU after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and episode 51 of Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

_V_

**Teenagers, Trains and Tarot Cards**

The first of September marked in every way the end of the Summer for Harry. The wind was brisk, and parents clutched their cloaks to their sides while students hurried faster than usual onto the Hogwarts Express.

From across the platform, Tonks blew Harry Potter a kiss that dissipated as it hit the bustling crowd and Harry gave a half-hearted wave from behind the thick glass windows of his compartment. He was kind of sad that Remus hadn't been able to see him off, but was equally glad that Tonks had been assigned in the werewolf's absence. Smiling broadly, the lemon-haired auror fizzled out of sight as she decided to blend in with the crowd.

The train jerked beneath his feet then, and Harry was surprised to find that it was already half nine, the slender hands of the platform clock stiffly striking at the word 'departing'. He hadn't seen Hermione or any of the Weasley clan since arriving at the station, and was starting to feel a bit impatient. Despite his anger over their lack of communication during the Summer months, Harry was still eagerly awaiting their reunion.  
Slowly, the platform began to blur beyond the window; speed cementing the grey September sky and streaky flagstone floor together until they became just a haze of monochrome. There was a draught seeping through the dislodged upper awning window, and Harry stood on the plush cabin seat to close it. The glass closed sharply, and at the same time the door to the compartment opened with a bang. Harry jumped.

"Oi! There you are- been looking _everywhere_ for you mate!"

The voice of Ronald Weasley was strangely foreign to him, and in that second it seemed like a lifetime since he'd last seen his friends. "Hi Ron." Harry said, slipping into his seat quickly so as not to draw attention to his height. (To his great dismay, Harry found that his feet did not reach the carriage floor- so he pulled them tightly up to his chest.) Harry shivered slightly as the after-chill from the window dragged an icy finger down his spine. Turning to face Ron he choked, taking in the boy's appearance before stifling a laugh.

"What?" The red head snapped, smothering his face with his hands in an effort to hide the violent sunburn that had blossomed there. Harry tried to pull his lips together as they twitched spasmodically. "S'not funny."

"Oh, what're you complaining about _now_ Ron?" Both boys turned to the open doorway, and as Hermione entered Harry swore he could see the reddened freckles on his friend's face turn a lovely shade of maroon to match his jumper. Unlike Ron, the summer sun had treated Hermione well, and the bookish girl sported a beautiful, mellow tan that put Ron's strawberry skin to shame. Harry subtly threw a glance at his own forearms- _nope, pale as ever._

"'Mione!" Ron spun around, his voice a little strangled.

"Why'd you run off like that? I was just saying goodbye to Victor. You didn't have to be so _rude_-"

_Wait... Victor? Victor Krum? Hadn't Hermione spent the summer with the Weasleys?_

"Well Vicky's had _all_ summer to say goodbye. I thought you said you were only seeing him for a weekend-"

"_Ron_-" Hermione began, but the red head cut him off.

"-and you call _me_ rude?! _He_ was the one who crashed the family holiday-"

_Ah. That would be it then._

"-oh come off it Ron, it was just for one week- and if you don't remember that was because he invited us to stay at _his_ house when we had nowhere to go because Charlie had to get back to work so urgently-"

"-all sounds very convient to me. Wouldn't be surprised if he organised it all himself just to put the moves on y-"

"_RON!!_"

"- _bloody slimey, no-good git_-"

"So how was the summer, guys?" Harry chose this as the opportune moment to step in- before things escalated to scary proportions. They couldn't fall out now, school hadn't even started yet.

Surely enough, the tension evapourated with an audible pop, followed by silence_. _The pair stared at Harry as if having only just noticed him properly for the first time. The pause seemed to drag on forever. Well, crap. They probably knew him well enough to notice the... changes that Harry'd experienced over the summer- and knowing them, they'd probably want an explanation- ever reluctant to accept that there weren't always answers to _all_ questions and-

"Bloody hell mate, you look different without your glasses." _Without his glasses? Oh... yeah..._

_"_Harry I _love _your hair!" Hermione piped, a bit pink; and Ron gave her a strange, slightly alarmed look as she continued to gush: "I can't believe you grew it out- it really suits you! I mean, you look so... so-"

"Homeless." Ron supplied, and Hermione looked at him sharply.

"I was going to say bohemian."

"Say-_what_-again?"

"Bohe- oh, forget it Ron."

Harry watched the exchange with amused eyes, raking a hand through the tangled black mess in question.

"-so anyway- what was I saying...? Oh! Harry, would you let me plait it for you?"

"Merlin, he's not a bloody _girl_ 'Mione." Ron said, turning to Harry before whispering conspiratorially- "See mate, this long hair buisness is more trouble than it's worth. I mean you just wait til Ginny sees it- you can ask Bill- wouldn't leave his hair alone, always messin' with it this way n' that." Harry laughed, actually quite thankful for Ron's interruption, the idea of his hair in a plait... didn't sit very well with him. "You think I'm joking!" Ron said incredulously, his voice cracking at the end, causing both Harry and Hermione to burst into a fit of giggles that left the red-head burying his face into his robe. "Wake me up when we get to Hogwarts."

"Actually... thats a point," started the bronzed, bushy-haired girl, "I'm prefecting this year again, I should probably head down to the prefects cabin. Sorry Harry," she threw the boy an apologetic smile, "we'll have plenty of time to catch up later."

"No that's f-"

"You're leaving already?" Ron looked up from his lap like a watchdog, interrupting the reply that had begun to form on Harry's lips.

Hermione pulled at a tendril of hair anxiously, "I should really have gone straight there from the platform-"

"I'll take you!" Ron jumped up from his seat and Harry wondered if the red-head had become too accustomed to having the girl to himself over the summer. Bounding across the little room the gangley boy was ushered out the door with a casual "See you, mate! Back in a mo'-"

"Bye Harry!"

The door slammed shut and Harry let out a long, suffering sigh. _That was kind of anticlimatic._

* * *

Ron didn't come back. Not in ten minutes. Not in twenty.

Harry frowned sullenly and kicked the fold out table hard before settling just to skim absentminded circles over it's surface. Bored, bored, bored, bored-

"Hello Harry Potter." The voice floated through the iced glass of one of the carriage doors as it slid open beside him him. Harry swivled round to come face to face with a bespectacled Luna Lovegood.

"Uh... hi, Luna." She smiled blithely at him, eyes staring unblinkingly into his. "Err, there's room for you in this carriage if you want. 'Mione's in the prefect's cabin-"

"No that's quite alright, just doing the rounds..." she said vaguely.

"Rounds?" Harry asked, not entirely sure that he wanted to know.

"Looking for a Jinn. You get alot of them this time of year, possessing the young and vulnerable first years, you see? I have to check everybody over with my geist goggles; it would be awful if we had a body snatcher loose in Hogwarts..." Harry nodded skeptically as Luna continued to peer at him through the glasses, pushing them further up her nose with a delicate thumb. Her mouth curled into a dazed smile and she cocked her head to one side,"Pretty."

"I'm sorry- what?"

"You have pretty eyes." The girl didn't blink. "Just like your dad."

"You mean my mum- yeah, I know." People were_ always _telling him he had Lily's eyes_._ " Uh, thanks... I mean-"

"I have to go," Luna said abruptly, light obscuring the lenses of her glasses as she turned to leave. "Places to go, creatures to catch."

"Luna, wait-"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about me Harry Potter, I'll be fine, I have a jar of Bolivian sea salt in my pocket... But I must say, I do appreciate your concern..."

And with that the girl ambled through the open door and out of sight.

Harry let his head drop down against the cool window sill. He was so _tired_. Despite the initial relief that the good news about Neville had brought the day before, Harry still managed to get a horrific night of sleep. He hoped, however, that staying at Hogwarts would clear it up proper. Something told him his insomnia wasn't going to ebb until he got back home, and if nothing else- Hogwarts had always felt like home.

Closing his eyes, Harry knew it wouldn't hurt to catch what little sleep he could, where he could... and it was all too easy to drift off in the knowledge that he would soon be home... soon be... home...

Home...

* * *

Something moved. Something moved _enough_ to brush his clothes and stir him from his light, dreamless sleep. A sliding, rustling sound.

Like a snake perhaps-_ or maybe a_-

Harry lurched upwards and slapped an instinctive hand out to stop whoever was rifling through his bag-

"Neville?" Harry snatched his arm back like it had been burned, his world still blurred by sleep. The boy's soft, doughy face looked up in surprise.

"Oh- h-hi Harry."

Harry wanted to ask Neville why he was looking through his stuff, but his jaw was slack and gaping. Scraping his chin from the floor, Harry _c_ontinued to stare unabashedly at Neville, and the boy flailed a bit under his gaze. "I was looking for T-Trevor." Neville's voice wobbled, and Harry snapped out of his reverie.

"Oh... uh, he's not here, actually... but I'll tell you if I see him." The larger boy nodded enthusiastically and Harry shrunk back in to his chair. Outside the window, the steel sky was beginning to go the colour of molten slag. Just how long had he been asleep?

"_Harry_!"

There was a sudden blurr of red as something barrelled into Harry's side. "Woah-" Harry turned his head to find the face of Ginny Weasley precariously close to his. He swallowed uncomfortably and ducked away a little. "Hi Ginny..."

Neville shuffled in his seat, something dark and unidentifiable flickering briefly behind his eyes as he watched Ginny nestle herself next to Harry. Oh yeah, that's right- Neville took her to the Yule Ball last year, but Ginny had yet to even acknowledge his presence in the room. Ouch. The red head reached over the black-haired boy to pull the curtain across the window and Harry watched Neville's eyes narrow with more venom than he thought the boy capable of possessing. _Well, shit. Way to give the guy the wrong impression, Gin'. _

Ron- who had followed Ginny into the room, sat down next to Neville, trapping him next to the window (when Neville looked like he wanted nothing more than to leave), and gave Ginny a look that Harry was sure was _meant_ to be distasteful- but that Ron had clearly not managed to perfect yet.

After spending much more time than Harry thought was necessary leaning over the boy's lap, Ginny pulled herself up and started rifling through her pocket. "Got it!" she said, and pulled a pack of long thin cards from between the panels of her skirt.

Ron let out a groan. "Not _this_ game again, you've been at it all holiday."

"Oh shut it Ron, you're only mad because you always lose. _Harry_ will play with me, wont you Harry?" Ginny turned her big mooney eyes towards towards him and Harry swallowed thickly.

"Umm, what am I playing, exactly?"

"It's called Fors Fortis Fortuna. It's a wizarding card game- look, everyone gets two cards to start with-" Ginny tossed two cards each at Ron, Neville and Harry before setting aside two for herself and placing the rest of the deck on the table. "-left to the dealer starts, so Ron will use his turn to either pick up a new card, or swap one of your cards with one of his- he doesn't get to choose which one you take though. Umm... lets see, the game ends when the entire deck has been picked up, and the cards you still have in your hand at the end of the game represent your future! Winner has the best fortune, loser is the person with the worst!"

Harry frowned skeptically, it all sounded a bit confusing, surely there were simpler ways of attempting to tell somebody's fortune. "Did Professor Trelawney teach you this?"

"Nah," Ron butted in before his sister could answer, "Every wizarding kid in Britain knows this one, it's all a load of superstitious bollocks anyway."

"Then why are you so afraid of playing?" Ginny threw a cheeky, twisted little grin at her brother, and he snatched up his cards fron the table. "Good. Left of the dealer goes first Ron, that's you- and Harry, the game goes widdershins round the circle so you go after Neville, kay?"

Harry nodded dumbly, wondering how he'd managed to get himself roped into this. Picking up his cards he studied them quietly, a bit bemused to see that they weren't from a standard pack of playing cards; the cards in his hands had pictures on them, ornate, detailed and delicate.

"Oh- I forgot to say, the cards don't move." Ginny said, misunderstanding Harry's confused expression. "See, the game pre-dates _Agito._" Harry's eyebrows crinkled a little further and Ginny jumped back in to explain. "_Agito_ is the animation spell, it was created by Rowena Ravenclaw around the time they built Hogwarts."

"You're beginning to sound a bit like Hermione, Gin'." Ron snorted, picking up a card from the deck. "Your go Nev'."

Neville swapped a card with Ginny, both of them picking a card out of the other's hand at random. Harry turned his attention to the cards in his own hand. One was a picture of a hooded man holding a lantern, while the other depicted a white pheonix bathing in a giant chalice made of gold, water spilling in an endless fountain over the brim. Urgh. How was he supposed to play if he didn't even know what any of the cards meant?

Neville used his turn to swap again with Ginny, leaving Harry to pick up another card from the pile.

Sliding a hand deftly over the smooth surface of the deck, Harry swiped a card from the top of the stack. The picture on the card was dominated by a large ivory globe; and only after staring at it for some time did Harry notice that the card was actually the wrong way up. If he squinted hard enough he could make out two hounds- hard to pick out against the black background- baying upside down at the moon. Carefully he flipped it the right way up.

"Stop!" Ginny said, startling Ron who was in the process of picking up a card. "I mean- sorry Harry, I didn't explain this very well did I? If you pick up a card and its upside down it means something different to when it's the right way up. You shouldn't really change it- it's against the rules-"

"Sorry," Harry flicked the card back the way it was originally- _what kind of game was this? _"I didn't realise."

"That's okay, wouldn't expect you to know really... I mean, living with your family and all... Your turn now Neville."

Neville tentatively reached over to Harry's hand, fingers hesitating before plucking the card of the lantern-wielding man out of Harry's limp grasp. When Neville was finished, the black haired boy simply reached out and grabbed the first card that his fingers landed on. As Harry snatched the new card back to his chest a look of relief danced over Nevilles features- he was clearly glad to get rid of it. Unperturbed by this, Harry flicked it over.

Hmm.

Harry didn't need to take divination to understand why Neville was happy to be rid of the card. It was simple enough in design, and even a complete beginner to the game couldn't fail to read it's message. The card depicted a man lying alone in a barren landscape- naked but for the red banner draped over his legs. Into his body had been driven ten swords- and the man was clearly dead. Harry swallowed and laughed- the wizards around him looked so serious, and Ron was eyeing his own hand like it was a death sentence. Which was funny really, seeing as the boy had thought Trelawney's class was a load of bollocks. _Oh dear,_ Harry sighed, _where was Hermione when you needed her?_

Ginny gave a little cry of delight when she picked up her next card, and Harry turned to look out the window, already bored to tears.

Time passed. The game was as slow as the deck was large, and as the hour progressed Harry'd managed to amass a small handful of eight cards. When the last of the light from outside started to dwindle, Harry finally turned his attention back to the game... A fleeting glance at his hand revealed a tower; a person suspended in the air by his neck; a figure grasping a staff as if ready to plunge into a battle- wands littering the floor below him; a human heart pinned down by three daggers; a woman watching a pile of cups scattered haphazardly on the ground; the pheonix fountain card that he had started with, the dead man that Neville had given him, and lastly the upside down painting of the moon that he had picked up earlier on.

To be honest, it was all greek to him. The whole game was pretty ludicrous.

The group turned to him expectantly and he flicked a careless finger over to Ginny to steal a card from her hand. For a second she looked dismayed, her gaze following the card as he slotted it amongst his own. As her eyes moved back to his face, Harry thought he saw something akin to realisation there, and she smiled brightly.

"Uh- Ginny, don't you have to take one of mine too?"

The girl snapped out of her dazed expression and flushed a little, reaching out to grab one of his own cards- the one, Harry noticed, with the woman and the pile of empty goblets. Ginny's face fell instantly.

Harry looked back at the card he'd taken off her, two people in a garden. _Bo-ring._

Ginny used her turn to draw from the deck, and Ron also picked another, smiling smuggly as he tucked it in amongst his fistful of cards. Neville's face seemed to grow whiter as he picked up again, his cheeks shaking with what could just as easily have been fear as it could've been rage; Neville had been growing increasing upset through out the game, and Harry wasn't sure whether that was to do with the looks that Ginny was throwing him, or that the boy was just taking the game a bit too seriously.

In order to end the damn game as soon as possible- Harry decided to use his turn to draw another card from the deck. He clutched his remaining cards in his left hand, reaching out towards the pack with the other. Harry stretched and leant right over the table to take a card from the dwindling deck; fingers brushed smooth paper and-

As Harry wrapped his fingers around the card on the top of the pile, the train lurched violently beneath him, sending him flying forward over the table top in a spray of cards and limbs. Ginny squealed and the train stopped. There was a clunking noise and the lights flickered once... twice... three times before plunging the carriage into complete darkness. Nobody moved.

Harry's cards were scattered about the carriage, along with the deck and everything that Ron and Ginny had been holding. Neville had a strange look on his face- his cards still tucked neatly in his fist. Ron and Harry looked at eachother worriedly.

"What was that...?"

Everyone was very still. "I dunno mate... I dunno." Ron licked his lips shakily. "My brothers have told me Hogwarts stories all my life, and they never said nothing about the train just stopping, I mean..." the boy swallowed thickly "... not since, you know, in year nine... with the dementors n' all."

Ginny's eyes went wide. "Dementors? Hell... wait- Harry, you taught us the patronus charm so we'll be okay right?"

"It's probably not dementors." Harry said firmly. He wasn't sure which would be worse, in all honesty, dementors or death eaters. "It's probably... it's probably nothing."

But what if it wasn't _nothing_?

What if it wasn't just death eaters or dementors?

...What if it was _both_?

"Hermione!" Harry's thoughts were cut short by Ron's panicked exclamation, and his head swung towards the boy sharply. "Hermione- she's in the cabin at the end of the train, I have to go find her!" Ron jumped from his seat and out through the carriage door.

"Ron wait!" Ginny and Harry both leapt to their feet. "Ron!" The red headed girl skidded to a stop as she reached the door and turned around to face Harry. "I'll catch him, it's okay- look, you go try and find some of the DA or something, give them a heads up. I'll meet you back here."

Harry nodded reluctantly. He didn't like the idea of letting her go after Ron on her own, and he was sure Ron would be angry about it when he came back, but, maybe there wasn't an attack at all. It did seem awfully quiet to be Voldemort, and so far all that had happened was the train stopping and the lights going out. Sounded more like a power cut. Could magical things even _get_ power cuts?

Harry reached for his wand as a precaution- but found that his right arm refused to move. It was stiff, dead and numb and still clenched fiercely around the card he had tried to pick up when the train stopped. Harry frowned and touched it warily. The flesh was cool against his fingertips and his muscles were taught and angry, frozen in the surprise the rest of his body had momentarily seized up with when the train had flung him from his seat.

Harry mused that it was almost like rigor mortis. Like a death grip.

Funny, because he certainly didn't remember being cursed...

Harry gripped his lame arm in irritation. Fuck. Why hadn't he read up on any healing spells? The sooner he got back to Hogwarts the better.

Swallowing back his frustration Harry ran down the rest of the length of the train car, flinging open door after door- and trying to make sure there was at least one DA member in each carriage, souping them up with shields and defence spells.

It probably wouldn't be enough though. Not if this was a real death eater attack.

As Harry's eyes started to adjust to the darkness, he found himself being able to move more quickly from carriage to carriage until he'd reached the end of the train car. One firm tug on the handle of the door that led outside and across to the next car told Harry that it had been magically sealed shut. In his mind he catalogued all the shield and lock spells he'd covered when reading over the summer. There were numerous ways he could untangle the spell on the door, depending on it's potency- but Harry was sure that a quick Alohomora wasn't going to cut it. For a second, Harry gave serious thought to blowing himself a way through, but then decided that it would probably do more harm than good. Whatever was outside (if there really _was_ anything outside at all) didn't need Harry to cut them another way into the train. Sighing, Harry gripped his wand in his left hand and turned around, making his way back up the carriage. All the doors were closed now and glowing dimmly in shades of yellow, green and blue that bounced softly off his skin as he passed. It was all far too quiet for his liking.

Harry slid through the door to their compartment, closing it deftly behind him. The room was painted with sharp shadows cut by the playing cards that papered every surface- everything was dim and still and-

Neville wasn't there.

Harry shivered. Maybe he'd followed Ginny? He was certainly going to be worried about her running off like that... Or- or- perhaps he'd joined one of the groups in another compartment... after all, Neville would probably have been quite scared being left all alone.

Harry swallowed back the tingle of guilt that began to inch up his spine at that thought.

Harry let his eyes trace the room as he waited for Ron, Ginny and Hermione to return. It was hard to see in the pitiful light of the cloud-strewn moon, but out the corner of his eye Harry noticed a neat pile of cards on the window sill. _Oh yeah, Neville didn't drop his cards when the train stopped, did he?_

Nervous boredom, rather than curiousity, drove Harry to peer over at the pile, so- still holding his wand at the ready- he nudged the heap with his wrist. The stack collapsed, sending a couple of the cards to the floor- a devil, a chariot, a priest-

Outside the window, something moved; Harry raised his eyes and instantly wished he hadn't-

A mouth gaped at him, grey and round and rotting beneath a blackened hood. Harry heard the gasping rattle, and saw it raise a skeletal hand to paw at him through the glass- the window screaming as it's nails whispered over the pane. Harry felt his eyes roll back into his head, his body collapsing like a puppet as the sound pierced the strings that anchored him to reality; beneath him, his legs gave way to the floor below and Harry bearly noticed his head slam against the table on the way down.

By the time Harry hit the ground he was too far gone to notice his arms go limp, and his right hand uncurl from around the card entrapped there- crumpled and fluttering like a fatal butterfly...

Harry lay still, Death cradled lovingly in his palm.

* * *

-

-

-

DUN DUN DUUUN!!  
Thankyou everyone for your reviews :) you have no idea how great it was to come home to them! Had some very astute ones, and some very interesting theories about where this story's going. About that I'm keeping firmly schtumm ;) What I can tell you though is that two major story "elements" have already been snuck in in some way or another, one of which wont become apparent for another 100,000 words minimum. That said, there have also been red herrings.  
On another note, I'm sorry if this chapter was a bit crap, or fillerish. Everything felt a little off- but that might just be me! Hope to get back on track for next chapter :)  
Most of this chapter was written on the Calais to Britain ferry crossing a while back and it was originally going to be called the Beginning of the End of the Beginning, because that's essentially what it is!! From here on out the story should start to snowball :) next few updates may take a while as I start uni at the end of september (I have to move to London- though currently I'm just trying to find somewhere to live ), however I hope to get atleast one more out before I leave.  
I hope you're as excited about reading this story as I am about writing it ^^. As ever PLEASE notify me of mistakes/ grammar errors. I do not have microsoft word, and the spell check on my open office does not work.

P.S I know I promised you action this chapter, but a cliffie will have to do for now ^^


	7. VI

Body Snatcher

_Ellersway _

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist. :(

This story is AU after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and episode 51 of Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

_VI_

**The Battle ****for**** The Hogwarts Express**

When Harry came to, there was blood. He couldn't see it; his vision was still dark and bleary with nightmares and shadows that chased the corners of his vision as his eyes darted around the room. Harry could smell the blood however; the thick clotted wetness had matted his hair where he had hit the table as he fell. His head hurt. Someone's scream was still echoing between his ears. His mother… or… _Edward's mother? _…Who is _Edward_?

_I don't know._

…Who am _I_?

_I __am the Fullmeta-_

Harry hissed as he dragged shaky fingers through the curdled clot at his scalp, the gluey scab ripped at his hair and was all but completely solid- how long had he been out?

It wasn't just his head that burned as he pulled at the knots in his hair, something warm trickled down his forearm and Harry turned his swaying eyes to his hand. It was wet. Bleeding. His palm was a thin but bright smear of red and little rivulets chased each other to the crease in his elbow. The wound was superficial. Not deep- not really. Four little cuts, one on the underside of each knuckle, and a fifth one, long- running from his thumb to the root of his wrist.

Drip. Drip.

Superficial maybe, but one of the cuts must have nicked a vein or something. Harry clenched his fist to stem the flow of claret, and the pressure forced another final few drops down his wrist and on to the plush floor below.

The train was silent, lifeless. A few carriages down Harry could hear the distant groan of metal. No voices, though. No people.

Blinking sluggishly, the boy pushed himself up off the floor. What had just happened anyway? Something tumbled from Harry's lap as he stood- a card. His tired eyes followed it to the floor but he couldn't make out its face for the dark smudges of blood that had dried there. Had Harry been holding that at some point? Was that what had cut him? Why couldn't he remember?

Harry winced as his hand wandered once again to the back of his throbbing skull. The mother-voice was still screaming. He clenched his eyes shut and brought his stinging palm to his mouth, sucking at the crease in each finger until the cuts went numb and the blood stopped flowing. Slowly he steadied his breathing and opened his eyes, letting his hand fall to his side. As Harry straightened his gaze he was faced with the wide black expanse of the window, he frowned, and then, remembered-

* * *

"I am not like _you_. I'm not- _not_- _I'm NOT_-_!_"

* * *

There had been a Dementor. Standing- or floating outside the window. Had it been looking for a way in? Or just looking for Harry?

Maybe it had been looking for Edward.

_Shutupshutupshutup-_

Outside the air exploded with sound. Great crashes of thunder like a whip cracking across the surface of the sky. There was no light though, just sound. It reminded Harry of bonfire night at the Dursley's; a day he would spend every year tethered to his cupboard like an animal- that's all his family thought of him as anyway, _an animal_. They never let him out on bonfire night. Maybe they figured he'd spook like a dog. Maybe Aunt Petunia was scared he'd piss on the carpet.

Harry sort of knew what fireworks were meant to look like; Mrs. Harrot made the whole class draw them every November 5th. Coloured chalk on black paper. Harry always ended up with last pickings though, usually white and the fiddly end bit of blue that nobody else wanted. (Sometimes there was green, but he never picked it up.) It was a competition; the most lifelike picture would go on a display in the hallway, framed with corrugated card, and the winner would get a Cadbury's Freddo.

When Harry had submitted his sky of perfect circles, he was sure that he would win. The other kids had scribbled ovals out of swirls and rainbow coloured dashes; their pictures smudged by careless fingers in an approximation of a- (Caitlyn? Claire? Charlotte?) wheel.

Harry had never seen fireworks. Not even on the telly. But sometimes when he closed his eyes he saw rings- like the ones he got from looking at the sun for too long- and Harry thought that they were beautiful. Everybody said that fireworks were beautiful. In his cupboard, on November 5th, Harry imagined a sky on fire, strung with rings of white and blue.

He never got the Freddo.

Harry shivered then, and shook the memory off like a blanket of snow. He touched his lips with a bloody finger, they were cold. Probably blue. There was no doubt in his mind that Dementors had been here. Harry hadn't thought about bonfire night for five years. But now it was becoming all too easy to get lost in the drudging snow drifts of his past- and there was that unnatural cold that lingered about the air. It was the cold of a meat-salting cellar, an abattoir; a place of death, of murder, and the perpetual wintriness only otherwise found in graveyards and tombs. Harry shuddered again.

An explosion rocked the carriage then; and the floor flung itself from beneath Harry's feet. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry made a lunge in the vague direction of the door and something screeched through the window like a rocket, searing the space where his head had been just moments before. Harry felt the hairs on his forearms fizzle away as a blanket of seeping, scorching- _suffocating_ heat enveloped the train. In the distance Harry could suddenly hear shouting- life, though it was a long way off. Scrambling blindly with one hand, he fumbled for the latch on the carriage door- giving an involuntary hiss as his bare palm ghosted over the white hot handle. Tears of pain prickled at the corners of his vision, and he held his blistered hand loosely in mid air, eyes still clamped shut. He needed to get out of there- how many other people were trapped in their carriages- stuck in white hot cages ready to be picked off one by one?

The metal gave a massive groan and Harry felt the carriage rock beneath his feet. Panic started to rise in his throat at the growing sound of footsteps. _Okay. Think, Harry. Think. _

If the doors were spelled shut, then could he get out by attacking them physically?

Harry shot a quick look around the room, and his eyes settled on the fold-out table. It was secured to the ground with a hollow metal pipe that held the whole thing steady and gave it extra support. Ripping off the soft wood tabletop, Harry wrenched the pole out of its slot in the floor. Raising it above his head he brought the pipe down on the glass of the window-

BANG.

Nothing. The scalded glass remained perfectly intact, and the metal in Harry's hand was growing hotter every second. He raised the pipe to strike again when an idea struck him…

_What if…?_

Oh, the science would work- he had no doubt about that. It was simple chemistry- covered in the first chapters of Dudder's GCSE Science book. Really, the success of Harry's idea was just down to how magically enforced the windows were… Hmm…it was worth a shot at least. Though failure would be particularly unpleasant…

Bracing himself, Harry thought of Sirius.

There was no memory that conjured the same feeling of pure- not happiness, maybe, but _hope_. Hope of escape from the house that had bred his nightmares. Hope of escape from the nightmares themselves. Hope for a family. Hope for a father. Hope for regaining the love that Harry knew he must have had once. Hope that one day somebody would look at him the same way that Alphonse did. Hope that Sirius would be that somebody.

Hope. Hope. Hope.

'_But… well… think about it. Once my name's cleared… if you wanted… a different home…'_

Hope hope hope.

'_What- live with you? Leave the Dursleys?'_

Hopehopehopehope-

"Are you mad?" Harry felt the familiar words drift passed the curve of his lips. "Of course I want to-" and then he caught himself. _'Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?'_

'_You want to? You mean it?'_

'_Yeah I mean it!'_

When Sirius smiled then, Harry saw stars. His happy memory. His happiest memory. Harry felt-

_Cold. Oh god. Cold. It's freezing._

Harry opened his eyes to stare out into the black expanse of the window. As his plan had predicted, the black stared balefully back. Frost bloomed beneath the skeletal fingers of the figure that reached to him from beyond the glass. Tightening his grip around the still scalding table leg- Harry knew his time frame was small, and swung the pole in an arch above his head before bringing it down on the window.

_Ch-chink._

The sound was small but crystal clear. Where the metal rested against the window there was now a tiny spider web. As the frost spread beneath the Dementor's hand, so did the crack in the glass, and what had once been a hairline fracture spread to become a full-sized fissure. A sinkhole. Five seconds later, the window imploded.

The chill was must worse without the barrier of glass between Harry and the Dementor. Closing his eyes, Harry forced Sirius again to the forefront of his mind-

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

**

* * *

**

_One __hour ago._

Hermione Granger paced the prefect's carriage, Crookshanks winding his way between her ankles in an effort to get her to sit back down so that he could enjoy her lap again. The bronze, bushy-haired girl bit down on her fingertips as her eyes darted to the open window. Not five minutes ago they had sent out owls on mass to Hogwarts in order to alert the headmaster about… well, about whatever was going on with the train. She didn't like it, not one bit. Her only consolation was that across from her Malfoy looked equally as worried- face twisted in a wide eyed grimace that made him look quite ill. If this were a Deatheater attack, the Slytherin Prince would be gloating right about now. Right?

The prefects carriage was long and communal, the seats were high backed so there were no compartments dividing the houses. Here Hermione could see Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor united in their uncertainty. She was pretty sure she could guess how they were feeling. All these students had been chosen to bear- _responsibility_, as it were. Usually this would mean just reporting licentious behaviour to the staff, upholding the Hogwarts 'law' or leading first years to their dorms, but today- for Hermione at least- the word _responsibility_ seemed to garner another meaning- a heavier meaning. Prefects were not only responsible for controlling their houses behaviour- but for protecting their houses, right? Giving students someone to turn to in their hour of need. It was all in the prefect handbook. You were meant to be a councillor _as well_ as a guiding hand.

According to Hogwarts a History, originally Prefects had been guardians. A select group of students who excelled in practical magic- that could protect the students while they slept from all manner of monsters. That had been in the dark ages, the muggle days of _memento mori_. Back when Dark magic and Dark creatures were as every day and every night as potions class and pumpkin juice in the great hall. Death was a likelihood in those times, not just a possibility. That was back when the lake had still been a part of the forest. The whole area where the Quidditch pitch was now had been thick with trees supporting an impenetrable canopy that reached five storeys high. Back in those days the forest had reached the castle walls- that was why there were no windows for ten floors on that face of the castle- no dormitories either; it would have been too easy for something to creep inside for a late night snack. Now- if Hermione's calculations were correct, that blank wall was mostly part of the room of requirement, (though with Hogwarts you never did know).

Looking around at the waxy faces of her peers Hermione increased her speed as she paced ferociously down the aisle, breathing deeply. The owls shouldn't take too long to get to Hogwarts. The train ride wasn't so far and owls weren't restricted to following the tracks and- and- Dumbledore must've realised something was wrong by now right? The Order would be here. The Order would be here. The Order _should_ be here damn it- _why weren't they here?_

If Hermione was honest, it was the stillness more than anything that was getting to her nerves. The train had stopped ten minutes ago but as of yet nothing more had happened. The night outside the window was silent, and nothing moved amongst the black. The head boy had gone to the driver to find out what was wrong and had yet to return. It shouldn't have been a fifteen minute trip. Everyone was getting anxious, it was written on their faces; one of the Ravenclaw prefects had their charms book out and was flicking through shields and protectives. He raised his wand and a Gryffindor seventh year reached out to slap it away.

"Dinnae be stupid. Whit about Harvey? Ye cannae just lock him ootwi like that."

"It's been fifteen minutes he's not coming back."

"Mibbe he's- A din' know, helping some students- daein' his job. Our job. Wean's are ginnae be scared oot there. Dinnae need clarty shit's like ye to bugger up whit's already a bad situation. Whit if he's in trouble. Ye lay down that spell and-"

"Whatever's out there can't hurt us as long as we put the shields up _now_!"

"Are ye even listening to me, y' nyaff? Stop haverin' an start looking up something that'll keep aabody safe not just yer own foustie little ass-"

Several students were trying to ignore the spat that was stirring between the some of the Gryffindor prefects and the Ravenclaw's huddled round the book. The Slytherins for the most part remained silent and stony faced throughout, though most looked like they thought the Ravenclaw had a point.

Hermione bit her lip and sat down on the seat behind her and something knocked at the door at the far end of the carriage.

The train car fell silent.

Prefects exchanged glances and there was another knock- louder this time, and-

"Bloody hell- _let us in_- Hermione? _Anybody_? Let us in!"

"Ron!" Hermione breathed, racing to the carriage door.

"Don't!" The Ravenclaw that had been arguing with the seventh year jumped up from his seat. "It might be a trap!" This was followed by various cries of "Quick!" and "Stop her!", but Hermione slipped past the few prefects who could be bothered to get in her way, and slid open the deadbolt that held the door closed with a thick crack.

"Ron!" she threw herself at the boy. Ginny moving to the side awkwardly while Lavender and Parvati remained firmly attached to either of her brother's arms. Hermione halted when she saw the two other girls and Ginny gave her an expressive look before pulling everyone inside the prefect's carriage.

"What happened? Where's Harry, why isn't he with you?"

"I-." Ron started, and but Ginny cut him off rolling her eyes.

"I found Ron with these two-"

"Hey, I wasn't about to just leave them where they were, it's dangerous out there-"

"Personally I think he got a little side tracked-"

"-They _kidnapped_ me alright?"

Ginny elbowed Ron in the ribs and Lavender instantly started to coo over his injured stomach.

"So where's Harry then?"

"Don't worry about him too much 'Mione, Harry's a pro at this stuff, yeah? He's probably taking down Deatheaters as we speak."

Somehow that didn't make Hermione feel any better.

"He's back in the last carriage." Ginny supplied. "We left him with Neville. I think he's gathering the DA and setting up some wards. Should be done by now though… I wonder what's taking him so long."

There was a crack then. One, two, three, four- five-six-seveneightnineten-

Within twenty seconds the carriage was full of grim-faced adults. Many of the prefects started to scream, but Hermione let out a cry of relief- recognising Order members and staff amongst the throng. Dumbledore apparated in last, eyes cold and robes swirling about his feet in a way that created a very impressive picture, "Thank god!" the girl breathed, running forwards to meet them.

She was met halfway by Tonks, whose hair still shone a vibrant yellow- though it seemed to be dulling by the second. "Just got the call." She said. "What's happening?"

"I don't know- the train just stopped- and we sent Harvey Kirkman to find out what caused it- but he hasn't come back- and you don't think- it isn't a Deatheater attack right? Because you would-" Hermione's eyes darted to Snape who was in deep conversation with Dumbledore, before flickering back to the metamorphmagus, she swallowed, "-you would _know_ right?"

"If it is an attack then old' Voldie kept proper schtumm about it." Tonks said, eyes shining with concern- and then paused as if considering something. "How old are you Hermione?"

"Old enough." The girl replied, tilting up her chin.

Tonks let out a sigh. "Alright, come here- you too Ron, you've both got at least some experience and we could use the extra help."

"What about me?" Ginny said. "I've got experience! I was at the ministry too, you know."

"Ginny, no- you're too young." Ron said, and the little red-head felt instantly betrayed.

"How old were you when you went after the philosopher's stone- or the- the chamber- or Sirius?"

Nobody missed the girl's small hesitation at the mention of the chamber, and Ron stiffened slightly. "That's not the point, Gin'," He said softly, "You're my sister, I-"

Tonks grimaced and interrupted before the boy's hole got any deeper. "Ginny, listen- there'll be a time for you to fight but it's _not now, _okay? There are other ways you can help- just stay here." The simultaneous weight of all three eyes was enough to stop Ginny from arguing back, she just fumed silently as her brother and Hermione turned to join the group of staff and the Order as they began to assess the situation. Ginny Weasley felt more than a bit helpless.

The small silence was broken as Malfoy strode over to slam the carriage door closed behind her- jerking her out of her small pool of self pity. "What the hell do you think you're doing Weaslette? Close the damn door alrea-"

"Wait- stop!" A small voice cried, a figure barrelling through the door and knocking the Slytherin back a bit. Ginny immediately recognised the boy as Neville, crouching down she tried to catch his eyes as he bent forward- doubled over and out of breath. "What's wrong Nev'?"

"It's Harry!" His cheeks wobbled a little as he spoke, raw with what looked like cold but could just have easily been tears.

Ginny's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" Her voice raised a little- enough to raise Malfoy's eyebrows but not enough to get the attention of the Order. "What's happened to Harry?" She grabbed him by the forearms and the boy flinched.

"I can't-" The boy's eyes darted and he swallowed thickly. "You have to come- I can't-"

Ginny clutched his hand, "Take me to him." and so he did. Five seconds later, door slightly ajar, it was if they'd never been there at all.

Neither noticed Draco Malfoy slip out after them.

**

* * *

**

_ALL STUDENTS. REPEAT. ALL STUDENTS MAKE YOUR WAY TO CARRIAGE__S XI AND XII IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT PANIC. ALL STUDENTS. REPEAT. ALL STUDENTS MAKE YOUR WAY TO CARRIAGES XI AND XII IMMEDIATELY-_

"Neville! Neville wait up!" _Gasp. Wheeze. Gasp. _"Neville please- slow down-!"

Ginny hadn't known that Neville was such a quick runner. In fact, she would have been the first to bet against him in a race against time. But as she chased him down the empty carriages to find Harry- wherever Harry was- she was quickly coming to realise that there were many things she hadn't known about Neville Longbottom.

_ALL STUDENTS. REPEAT. ALL STUDENTS MAKE YOUR WAY TO CARRIAGES XI AND XII IMMEDIATELY. _

"Neville! Neville please- _you're going too fast_-!"

_DO NOT PANIC-_

"_Neville!_" But her voice was lost in the overhead boom of Dumbledore's voice. Ginny could no longer see Neville, he'd probably reached the next carriage by now. Ginny tried to run faster but a stitch had taken hold of her side and man, she had forgotten just how much they _hurt_. The carriage was already empty; Ginny had started to lose Neville when they'd been pushing passed the waves of students as they all hurried to the Prefect cabins. Most of the school had probably already portkeyed out of there by now. What if Harry was gone too?

No. Neville said that Harry had needed help so-

_ALL STUDENTS. REPEAT. ALL STUDENTS MAKE YOUR WAY TO CARRIAGES XI AND XII IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT PANIC. ALL STUDENTS. REPEAT. ALL STUDENTS MAKE YOUR WAY TO CARRIAGES XI AND XII IMMEDIATELY-_

"_Aaa-ch_!" Ginny hissed, slowing to a slight limp as she curled a hand around her side. For someone on the Quidditch team she sure wasn't very fit…

As she reached the end of the carriage Ginny reached out a hand to pull open the door. It would be unlocked where all the students had already made their way through it to get to the evacuation point.

She fumbled in the darkness for the handle. Ginny exhaled a thin cloud of air as her hand settled on the cool metal bar. She pushed. Once. Twice.

… Nothing. "Okay…" she said, voice wavering slightly, and shook the bar a little harder.

Nothing. It wouldn't move. It wouldn't budge.

"Alohomora!" She whispered, but nothing happened except-

No. No- no- no no no_nonono_.

As the light of the spell died Ginny saw it out the corner of her eye. Something- on the floor. There and then gone- so quickly-

Her blood went cold. Every part of her body seemed to freeze instantly- and she listened.

Silence.

Silence.

…Had she imagined it?

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

When had Dumbledore stopped the alarm?

Silence- and then- ever so quietly, the whisper of skin swept softly across the floor.

Closer now. Closer.

Ginny turned and ran.

Her words, at first, started out as nothing more than a low, pained moan. "_Nononononono_-"

Her chest ached but she ran.

"_Nononono- _please no- _please_ no- _no_- Merlin. Merlin-"

Ginny flew forward as the carriage gave a great moan and jerked beneath her feet. Behind the carriage doors she could hear the sound of magic; something was attacking the train- and for a second glad she was she wasn't in one of the compartments. Ginny wasted no time and launched herself desperately off the floor. The aisle was suddenly getting very hot despite still being black as pitch- the air getting perilously thin. The end of the carriage was in sight- if she could just get outside- back to where she'd come from- if she could _just get back_ to the prefects carriage and find the Order to send help to Neville- and Harry and-

As Ginny touched the metal of the door handle to carriage IV a series of things happened. Firstly she screamed- a reaction to the second degree burns that blossomed instantly across her palms as she grasped at the door. This was a scream that was heard not only by Harry Potter as three carriages down he shattered the window of his compartment, but by every member of the Order of the Phoenix, every student not yet evacuated to Hogwarts, every shadowy figure that circled the train in wait. It was a signal. A symbol. It was not ignored.

Ginny crumpled in the darkness, clutching at her hand with a guttural moan of pain. Around her she could hear the rush of her pursuer's skin as it slid along the floor towards her.

_Help me. _She mouthed the words, digging her head back in to the floor as if in hope it would swallow her completely. _Help me. _Hot tears crashed down hot cheeks. _Help me please._

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut as the something cool whispered over her cheek. It tickled. She let out a choked, tearful laugh. _I am going to die._ Then she opened her eyes.

* * *

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

The light that burst forward from Harry's wand was, despite being perfectly opaque and milky in colour, entirely without shape or form. It slammed into the darkness not as an animal, but as a roiling haze of light. No legs. No face. No eyes. It did the job however, the creature screaming as it fled upwards into the sky. There were probably more of them, but Harry didn't let his thoughts linger too much on the what ifs of this horrible situation, and wasting no time the boy leapt through the open window and out on to the rail tracks below.

He landed in a crouch on gravel that stuck to his curdled bloody hand. Hissing, Harry winced as he tried to wipe the little stones off on to his trousers.

Then he heard Ginny's scream.

It wasn't far away, so he took off at a run- his patronus circling him happily, illuminating the dark shadows that clung to the edges of his vision. The train was surrounded by Dementors. Harry blanched as the white light caught the ivory of a mask somewhere in the distance.

Shit. Shit. _Shit. _So the Deatheaters were definitely here then.

Harry began to slow, the light of his patronus dimming slightly. Where had Ginny's scream come from? It had been close… was it here? Beside him the fading light danced across the brass letters III. This was carriage III. It was dark inside and Harry ghosted a hand over the door. Hot too.

_Fuck it._

"_Reducto!_"

The doorframe exploded outwards and Harry braced his arms around his face as shards of glass and magic rained down over his head. Perhaps he'd put a little too much force into the spell. Almost the whole end of the carriage was now missing along with three of the back wheels, leaving the whole thing to teeter threateningly to one side. Harry jumped up into the aisle- his little light bounding behind him like a faithful dog, and brandished his wand in front of him.

Where was everybody?

"Ginny?"

Was this even real? Or was he still passed out on the floor of his cabin?

"Hello-?"

Something struck the side of the carriage from outside- a turquoise light that filtered down through the hole Harry had created. Without warning, the train car tipped and tumbled down the steep bank below the rail tracks. It wasn't far, twenty feet at most, but the carriage landed on its roof and Harry lay once again unmoving- crumpled on the floor.

He opened his eyes slowly- his ears were ringing something awful. A hazy white light obscured his vision and Harry realised then that apart from a few bumps and scrapes he was mostly unharmed- his patronus had wrapped itself around his upper body, protecting him from what would probably have been grievous injury if not death. Harry breathed in- exhaling a cloud of frozen air mixed with patronus.

He licked his lips. It tasted like fire. Like sunshine.

That made no sense, maybe he'd hit his head harder than he'd initially thought. Slowly his vision began to clear as his patronus fizzled out to nothing; he was very lucky that he'd managed to survive the fall. He felt a chill though as he wondered if Ginny had been in this carriage as well.

Fuck he hoped not.

However, minutes passed, and even as Harry picked through the wreckage and became sure that Ginny wasn't there- the chill didn't fade. In fact it grew stronger-

Dementors. _Again_. Damn it all to-

"_Angere_!"

Harry ducked away from the light that flew at him from the bottom of the aisle- only just missing the rancid yellow light of "_Morsus! Sempiternus Vulnero!_".

At the end of the capsized corridor a robed figure marched towards him, glass lights snapping and sparking sprays of white beneath his boots. Harry blanched and staggered slowly to his feet, groping for his wand that had been lost amongst the wreckage. Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

The deatheater was much closer now, and Harry felt his fingers brush his wand underneath the rubble. "_Stupefy!_" He yelled, but the sharp red light was absorbed by some sort of shield. The figure continued it's approach and Harry rattled off curses as fast as he could. "_Impedimenta! Reducto! Trunco Mancus!_"

Finally a curse met it's mark, and the deatheater stumbled- crashing forward to the floor with their wand raised lopsidedly in one last attack. Harry's eyes widened as their shadowed lips breathed out-

_Avada Kedavra_.

The boy watched as the green wall washed towards him in a tidal wave of colour. Frozen, Harry found himself unable to shake off the hold of the dementors spell that fixed him to the floor- _His uncle's eyes. The headlights of the oncoming car. His fathers footsteps-_

Harry smacked his hands together and slammed them to the floor- a raw, desperate instinct that gave way to horror as he realised it was a hestiation that had just cost him his life. Bracing himself for the inevitable impact, Harry's muscles were curled and quaking, eyes squeezed shut. Fuck. Why hadn't he run?

_Oh God- I'm going to d-_

Death barrelled into Harry. The curse hitting him squarely in the side in a way that stole the breath immediately from his lungs, leaving a weight that settled firmly on his chest and-

"What the _hell_ Potter?"

Harry unscrunched his eyes blearily, "Malfoy?" His words were blurred and weary, and his vision spun like a carousel. Above him a shock of white blonde hair swam into view, and behind that Harry could see a large hole in the carriage wall. "... what...?"

God his head ached, he must've have reopened his cut on the way down.

"What're you playing at Potter? Someone fires the killing curse at you and you decide to play patty-cake with the floor-" Malfoy gave Harry a fierce shove and pulled himself off the boy's chest- mumbling under his breath the words: "_Fucking mudblood moron_."

Harry coughed, a little lost for words. "I-"

"Don't interrupt me Potter. I just jeopardised my life for you- and if it weren't for me you would've died."

What did the slimy git want, a medal? Harry snarled- heckles rising. "Why do you even _care_?"

"I don't."

"But you saved my life-"

"-Yes, and now you _owe_ me, Potter. _One life debt_." The boy said slowly- as if savouring the sound- punctuating each word with a smug smirk. Well, shit. Of course Malfoy would never do anything unless it benefited him in some way or another. Naturally he'd have an alterior motive. Fucking Slytherin. "- and believe me, I _will_ be calling it in."

Harry fumed silently from the floor as the blonde marched right passed him, making no effort to help up the bleeding boy.

"...Oh, and Potter-" Malfoy's voice floated up the carriage "-if you _ever_ make me do something like this again..." the voice wavered as if considering something "...I _wont_."

Harry watched as the blond climbed out of gaping hole at the end of the carriage. Somewhere above him, Harry could hear a battle raging, the sounds of war filtering down from the train tracks. The Order had clearly arrived by now, and it seemed that the enemy was making itself known. Hopefully it would all be over soon.

Harry hurt all over, but the Dementors chill was starting to fade. Harry could only hope that it was because they were fleeing- not because they'd found somewhere to feed. Picking himself off the floor for what must have been the hundredth time that night, Harry leant against the carriage wall. Damn it he needed to learn some healing spells- he was useless like this. Even if Ginny wasn't in carriage III, she had to be somewhere and Harry was in no fit state to be helping _himself_ let alone _her_ or anybody else. Shit.

For the third time Harry saw a silhouette marked out at the end of the carriage.

"Harry!" A voice cried. A feminine voice. Young, familiar-

"Tonks?" He said- his voice coming out in some horrible, god-awful croak.

"Shit!" The woman raced over, "Oh- _shit_, what happened to you Haz'?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but his words came out as a dizzy groan. The warm wet clot at the back of his head had reopened and was oozing out a pleasant line of red that slowly inched between his shoulder blades.

"Shh- okay, don't talk now just- look- come on, take this-" she pushed something into his hands, small, angular- a remembral? "It's a portkey. It's going to take you to Hogwarts."

"-Ginny."

There was a definite pause before Tonks spoke again. "…She'll be okay Harry. You need to go now."

Harry didn't have time to protest before the familiar pull tugged behind his navel. It almost felt like he was falling again. There were lights behind his eyelids now. Pretty rings that spun.

Like fireworks.

* * *

When Harry finally landed outside the gates of Hogwarts, vision doubled and head spinning, he threw up in a bush. Harry would recall fondly the next day, the way somebody had put their hands on his back as he heaved. After that, he had collapsed contentedly.

The search for Ginny Weasley continued long into the night.

* * *

Hmm, Eddy's going a bit kerr-azy. I did promise you guys a bit of action. Was the wait worth it? Or are you still peeved at the disappearance of the ever-elusive plot bunny, of which we've seen neither hide nor hair (though you might have caught a fleeting glimpse or two). I promise that the next chapter will have ubermegasuperspecial awesome uhh plot... uh... hints, plot hints. Only 'hints' though. Sorry guys. :( (I mean, seriously, its only been 6 chapters, did you think I'd give it away so easily?)

Also, if you need any britishisms explained, I'll be happy to PM you ^^, just realised I used a few obscure ones here.

On a more pressing note, I need to know how long you're willing to wait until we get the ('last five years-esque', for those of you who read the old body snatcher) chapters that tell us whats been happening in Amestris-land. Should I leave it until later (at perhaps a more suitable point in the storyline) and give it to you in a big chunk, or should I start adding it in sooner and spread it out?  
Couple of things pointed out in reviews:  
1. As for Luna knowing Hoenheim, you're right, that _would_ be too convenient. As it stands, she's never met the guy. Though sometimes I don't think she pays much attention to the things that come out of her mouth. (But with Luna, you never can tell).  
2. Ron and Hermione's reaction to Harry (or rather, the lack of it), there will be a reaction when the dozy twits actually notice the changes. They haven't even seen Harry stand up yet though, that'll be interesting.  
3. Harry's hair... is almost/not quite as long as Ed's? That's how I imagine it, will include some description at some point.  
4. Uhhh, okay, I thought it was kind of clear from the 'RoyEd' marker in the summary, but apparently there are people who received a nasty shock when they realised that this fanfiction will have an eventual M/M pairing. That's right. Eventual, and certainly **not explicit**. But this story _is_ slash. I repeat: **THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN SOFT SLASH**. The RoyEd will not be for a long time yet, but these things **NEED FORSHADOWING**, which means that at some point beforehand the theme of homosexuality will have to be weaved into the story in such a way that it becomes **PLOT RELEVANT**. I'm not going to give this story a 'gay gloss of paint', I want it to be **realistic**, and Eddy Hadward is going to have a bloody hard time figuring the whole thing out anyway. Seriously, when have I ever cut the boy some slack? This is the last I'm going to say on this topic until we actually get to it, **so consider yourself warned!**

Anywho... sorry for the long A/N, let me know your thoughts and theories about whats going on too guys, I love to hear them!

Next chapter may take a little while as taking BA Japanese is harrrrrd :( But don't worry, I haven't forgotten this story. I've planned WAY too far ahead to give up ;)

Thanks for all your support, your reviews always brighten my day :)


End file.
